"Jerry Pournelle - High Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

Minister says! I can't switch crops. It takes almost 200 gallons of water a day to grow food for
one man with this crop pattern, and I can't afford the water for the high-calorie system. So stop
bothering me about it, Mr. Bloomfort!"
"The desalinization equipment works splendidly, I've seen it," Bloomfort replied. He was a short,
dumpy man with beads of sweat standing out above his small brown mustache. Both men looked as if
they were out in the plant area, not in an air-conditioned office. "The foreman says you won't
give him enough power to operate at full capacity."
"Damn right I won't. I can't, I have the phosphate production to keep up! The fresh water plant
runs at full capacity when the sun's up. We never intended to run it full time at peak." He
glanced up. "Hi, Bill. Mr. Bloomfort, this is Bill Adams, Special Assistant to the Chairman of
Nuclear General. Bill, Anton Bloomfort, Undersecretary of the Interior."
As Adams and the politician shook hands, Franklin continued, "Maybe you can talk some sense into
him, Bill. I can't. He wants us to change to ten-crop or high-calorie so they'll have something to
give Ifnoka."
"We must give him food," Bloomfort said. "He has an army and threatens to invade. Their sabotage
has cost us much already."
Adams nodded grimly. "That's why I'm here. Tell me about this Ifhoka."
"He is Chairman of the African People's Union," Bloomfort replied. "Although Premier Tsandi does
not care for him, Ifhoka controls the army in Rondidi, and his party is strong in Botswana. He has
followers in the Republic of South Africa, and some here."
"And what's he want?" Adams prompted.
"He says food for Rondidi. Ultimately ..." The politican's half smile melted to a grim mask.
"Ultimately, he wants Otjiwar!" Jeff Franklin said.
"I've heard." Adams nodded and turned to Bloomfort and the priest. "I've only just arrived, give
me a few hours, will you?" Humph, he thought. Only a half hour and I'm already picking up that
clipped British speech pattern. "Father, can you take Mr. Bloomfort wherever he wants to go?"
Father Percy smiled, "What you're saying is can we get out of the way so you can talk to your
Station Chief in private. Of course. I'll see you later, Mr. Adams. Dinner with the Bishop and me
perhaps?"
"Thank you, yes. ..." Adams waited until the others had left the room. "OK, Jeff, give it to me
straight."
"It's simple enough," Franklin told him. He ran stubby black fingers through close-cropped tangled
hair. "I can't handle it. I thought I could, Bill, I really did, but I can't. OK, so you wanted a
black man as Station Chief here. Looked like a good idea at the time. But that's what you're here
for, isn't it? To yank me?"
"Crap." Franklin looked up, surprised. "You think we put you in here because you're black? If I'd
had a better white man I'd have put him here. MacRae's on Tonga, Martinez is a sea farmer,
Horton's-the hell with it, I'm not running through the list. Mr. Lewis put you here because I
thought you were the best man for the job, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me what you
can't handle."
"Yes, sir." Franklin looked at Adams quizzically. Adams grinned.
"I'll also fire you the instant I think you can't handle it."
"Yeah." Franklin turned to the draftsman's table. "Technically we're pretty good despite the
sabotage. Only minor stuff anyway, tractors, some pumps and water lines, nothing we can't fix.
They don't want to hurt the Station, they want it intact." He pointed to the blueprints. "Farms
are laid out, getting a crop from eighty thousand acres. Not as good yields as we'll get later, it
takes time to condition soil as poor as this, and the workers are only learning how it's done-
Bill, they don't know anything! If it wasn't for the Mission schools, we'd be in real trouble. Our
schools are set up to take people at a little higher level than we've got."
Adams nodded. "I'll tell Courtney we need some of those Sesame Street-type TV tapes. Got TV in all