"Pournelle, Jerry - Mercenary (V1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

subsided and sullenly shuffled forward in the line.
Tri-V commentators said the stunners were painless, but John wasn't eager to have
it tried on him. The Tri-V people said a lot of things. They said most colonists were
volunteers, and they said transportees were treated with dignity by the Bureau of Relocation.
No one believed them. No one believed anything the government told them. They
did not believe in the friendship among nations that had created the CoDominium, or in the
election figures, or --
He reached the interview cage. The trustee wore the same uniform as the guards,
but his gray coveralls had numbers stenciled across back and chest. There were wide gaps
between the man's jaggedly pointed teeth, and the teeth showed yellow stains when he
smiled. He smiled often, but there was no warmth in the expression.
УWhatcha got for me?" the trustee asked. "Boy dressed like you can afford anything
he wants. Where you want to go, boy?"
"I'm not a colonist," John insisted. His anger rose. The trustee was no more than a
prisoner himself -- what right had he to speak this way? "I demand to speak with a
CoDominium officer."
"One of those, huh?" The trustee's grin vanished. УTanith for you." He pushed a
button and the door on the opposite side of the cage opened. "Get on," he snapped. "Fore I
call the guards." His finger poised menacingly over the small console on his desk.
John took papers out of an inner pocket of his tunic. "I have an appointment to
CoDominium Navy Service," he said. "I was ordered to report to Canaveral Embarkation
Station for transport by BuRelock ship to Luna Base." "Get movinТ-- uh?Ф The trustee
stopped himself and the grin reappeared. "Let me see that." He held out a grimy hand.
"No." John was more sure of himself now. "I'll show them to any CD officer, but
you won't get your hands on them. Now call an officer."
"Sure." The trustee didn't move. "Cost you ten credits." "What?"
"Ten credits. Fifty bucks if you ain't got CD credits. Don't give me that look, kid.
You don't pay, you go on the Tanith ship. Maybe they'll put things straight there, maybe they
won't, but you'll be late reporting. Best you slip me something."

John held out a twenty-dollar piece. "That all you got?" the trustee demanded.
"O.K., O.K., have to do." He punched a code into the phone, and a minute later a petty
officer in blue CoDominium Space Navy coveralls came into the cage
"What you need, Smiley?"
"Got one of yours. New middy. Got himself mixed up with the colonists." The
trustee laughed as John struggled to control himself.
The petty officer eyed Smiley with distaste. "Your orders, sir?" he said.
John handed him the papers, afraid that he would never see them again. The Navy
man glanced through them. "John Christian Falkenberg?Ф "Yes."
"Thank you, sir." He turned to the trustee. "Gimme." "Aw, he can afford it." "Want
me to call the Marines, Smiley?" "Jesus, you hardnosed - У The trustee took the coin from
his pocket and handed it over.
"This way, please, sir," the Navy man said. He bent to pick up John's duffel. "And
here's your money, sir." "Thanks. You keep it."
The petty officer nodded. "Thank you, sir. Smiley, you bite one of our people again
and I'll have the Marines look you up when you're off duty. Let's go, sir."
John followed the spacer out of the cubicle. The petty officer was twice his age, and
no one had ever called John "sir" before. It gave John Falkenberg a sense of belonging, a
sense of having found something he had searched for all his life. Even the street gangs had
been closed to him, and friends he had grown up with had always seemed part of someone