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

else's life, not his own. Now, in seconds, he seemed to have found -- found what, he
wondered.
They went through narrow whitewashed corridors, then into the bright Florida
sunshine. A narrow gangway led to the forward end of an enormous winged landing ship
that floated at the end of a long pier crowded with colonists and cursing guards.
The petty officer spoke briefly to the Marine sentries at the officers' gangway, then
carefully saluted the officer at the head of the boarding gangway. John wanted to do the
same, but he knew that you didn't salute in civilian clothing. His father had made him read
books on military history and the customs of the Service as soon as he decided to find John
an appointment to the Academy.
Babble from the colonists filled the air until they were inside the ship. As the hatch
closed behind him the last sounds he heard were the curses of the guards.
"If you please, sir. This way." The petty officer led him through a maze of steel
corridors, airtight bulkheads, ladders, pipes, wire races, and other unfamiliar sights. Although
the CD Navy operated it, most of the ship belonged to BuRelock, and she stank.
There were no view ports and John was lost after several turns in the corridors.

The petty officer led on at a brisk pace until he came to a door that seemed no
different from any other. He pressed a button on a panel outside it.
"Come in," the panel answered.
The compartment held eight tables, but only three men, all seated at a single booth.
In contrast to the gray steel corridors outside, the compartment was almost cheerful, with
paintings on the walls, padded furniture, and what seemed like carpets.
The CoDominium seal hung from the far wall -- American eagle and Soviet sickle
and hammer, red, white, and blue, white stars and red stars.
The three men held drinks and seemed relaxed. All wore civilian clothing not much
different from John's except that the older man wore a more conservative tunic. The others
seemed about John's age, perhaps a year older; no more.
"One of ours, sir," the petty officer announced. "New middy got lost with the
colonists."
One of the younger men laughed, but the older cut him off with a curt wave. "All
right, coxswain. Thank you. Come in, we don't bite."
"Thank you, sir," John said. He shuffled uncertainly in the doorway, wondering who
these men were. Probably CD officers, he decided. The petty officer wouldn't act that way
toward anyone else. Frightened as he was, his analytical, mind continued to work, and his
eyes darted around the compartment.
Definitely CD officers, he decided. Going back up to Luna Base after leave, or
perhaps a duty tour in normal gravity. Naturally they'd worn civilian clothing. Wearing the
CD uniform off duty earthside was an invitation to be murdered.
"Lieutenant Hartmann, at your service," the older man introduced himself.
"And Midshipmen Rolnikov and Bates. Your orders, please?"
"John Christian Falkenberg, sir," John said. "Midshipman. Or I guess I'm a
midshipman. But I'm not sure. I haven't been sworn in or anything."
All three men laughed at that. "You will be, Mister," Hartmann said. He took John's
orders. "But you're one of the damned all the same, swearing in or no."
He examined the plastic sheet, comparing John's face to the photograph, then
reading the bottom lines. He whistled. "Grand Senator Martin Grant. Appointed by the
Navy's friend, no less. With him to bat for you, I wouldn't be surprised to see you outrank
me in a few years."
"Senator Grant is a former student of my father's," John said.