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

"I see," Hartmann returned the orders and motioned John to sit with them.

Then he turned to one of the other midshipmen. "As to you, Mister Bates, I fail to
see the humor. What is so funny about one of your brother officers becoming lost among the
colonists? You have never been lost?"
Bates squirmed uncomfortably. His voice was high-pitched, and John realized that
Bates was no older than himself. "Why didn't he show the guards his taxpayer status card?"
Bates demanded. "They would have taken him to an officer. Wouldn't they?"
Hartmann shrugged.
"I didn't have one," John said.
УUm.Ф Hartmann seemed to withdraw, although he didn't actually move. "Well," he
said. "We don't usually get officers from Citizen families -У
"We are not Citizens," John said quickly. "My father is a CoDominium University
professor, and I was born in Rome."
"Ah," Hartmann said. "Did you live there long?"
"No, sir. Father prefers to be a visiting faculty member. We have lived in many
university towns." The lie came easily now, and John thought that Professor Falkenberg
probably believed it after telling it so many times. John knew better: he had seen his father
desperate to gain tenure, but always, always making too many enemies.
He is too blunt and too honest. One explanation. He is a revolting S.O.B. and can't
get along with anyone. That's another. I've lived with the situation so long I don't care
anymore. But, it would have been nice to have a home. I think.
Hartmann relaxed slightly. "Well, whatever the reason, Mister Falkenberg, you
would have done better to arrange to be born a United States taxpayer. Or a Soviet party
member. Unfortunately, you, like me, are doomed to remain in the lower ranks of the officer
corps."
There was a trace of accent to Hartmann's voice, but John couldn't place it exactly.
German, certainly; there were many Germans in the CD fighting services. This was not the
usual German, though; John had lived in Heidelberg long enough to learn many shades of the
German speech. East German? Possibly.
He realized the others were waiting for him to say something. "I thought, sir, I
thought there was equality within the CD services."
Hartmann shrugged. "In theory, yes. In practice -- the generals and admirals, even
the captains who command ships, always seem to be Americans or Soviets. It is not the
preference of the officer corps, Mister. We have no countries of origin among ourselves and
no politics. Ever. The Fleet is our fatherland, and our only fatherland." He glanced at his
glass. "Mister Bates, we need more to drink, and a glass for our new comrade. Hop it."

"Aye, aye, sir." The pudgy middy left the compartment, passing the unattended bar
in the corner on his way. He returned a moment later with a full bottle of American whiskey
and an empty glass.
Hartmann poured the glass full and pushed it toward John. "The Navy will teach you
many things, Mister Midshipman John Christian Falkenberg. One of them is to drink. We all
drink too much. Another thing we will teach you is why we do, but before you learn why,
you must learn to do it."
He lifted the glass. When John raised his and took only a sip, Hartmann frowned.
"More," he said. The tone made it an order.
John drank half the whiskey. He had been drinking beer for years, but his father did
not often let him drink spirits. It did not taste good, and it burned his throat and stomach.
"Now, why have you joined our noble band of brothers?" Hartmann asked. His