"Resnick, Mike - Oracle 2 - Oracle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"This is the Gamestalker, registration number 237H8J99, eight Galactic Standard days out of The Frenchman's World, Joshua Jeremiah Chandler commanding."
"We have no record of The Frenchman' s World, Gamestalker."
"It's the third planet in the Boyson system on the Inner Frontier," responded Chandler.
There was a brief silence.
"What is your purpose for visiting the Alpha Crepello system, Gamestalker?"
"Business."
"State the nature of your business, please."
"I'm a salesman."
"What do you sell?"
"Rare stamps and coins."
"Have you a confirmed appointment with any inhabitant of the Alpha Crepello system?"
"Yes."
"With whom is your appointment?"
"Carlos Mendoza," replied Chandler, using the first name that came to mind. "I believe he resides on Alpha Crepello III."
Another silence.
"We have no record of any Carlos Mendoza living on Alpha Crepello III. Is Carlos Mendoza a human?"
"Yes."
"He does not reside on Alpha Crepello III," said the voice with finality.
"Then perhaps he is merely a visitor," said Chandler. "All I know is that I was supposed to meet him there."
"The Alpha Crepello system is not a member of the Democracy," said the voice. "We have no reciprocal trade agreements with the Democracy, we have no military treaties with the Democracy, and we do not recognize Democracy passports. No one may land on Alpha Crepello III without special permission of the government, and this permission is rarely given to members of your race." There was a brief pause. "You may land on any of Alpha Crepello' III's terraformed moons, but if you attempt to land on Alpha Crepello III itself, you will be detained and your ship will be subject to confiscation."
"Thank you," said Chandler. "Gamestalker over and out."
The Iceman had told him that he wouldn't be allowed to land on the planet itself, so he was neither surprised nor disappointed that permission had been denied him. He sighed, stretched, and stared at his viewscreen.
"Computer," he said, "bring up holograms, charts, and readouts on Alpha Crepello III's terraformed moons."
"Working . . . done," replied his ship's computer.
There were three of them -- Port Maracaibo, Port Samarkand, and Port Marrakech. Each had once been rich in fissionable materials and had been terraformed by the long-defunct Republic almost-two millennia ago. The inhabitants of Alpha Crepello III had objected, and the Navy had subdued them in a brief but furious battle. Then, when the Democracy had succeeded the Republic, Alpha Crepello III -- which had been dubbed Hades by its human ambassador because of its reddish soil and incredibly hot climate -- had declined to remain an active member of the galactic community and had cut all ties with its neighboring worlds as well as with Deluros VIII, the huge, distant world that had become the capital of the race of Man. Since the moons were virtually mined out by that time and Man had more immediate conquests and problems to deal with, Hades had been allowed to go its own way.
The three moons were of little or no use to the residents of Hades, and as the miners left, other Men moved in, men who were seeking worlds that had no official ties with the Democracy. Hades had originally objected, but the prospect of another war convinced them to practice a form of benign neglect toward the moons and their new inhabitants, and over the centuries the moons gradually became a clearinghouse for black market goods, a sanctuary for human outlaws, a gathering place for mercenaries, and a conduit between the free worlds of the Quinellus Cluster and the regulated worlds of mankind's vast Democracy.
"Computer," said Chandler, "how many humans reside on each of the terraformed moons?"
"126,214 on Port Maracaibo, 18,755 on Port Samarkand, and 187,440 on Port Marrakech," replied the computer. "These figures are accurate as of the last census, taken seven years ago."
"What form of currency is in use on each of the moons?"
"They accept all forms of human currency that are traded within the Democracy and on the Inner Frontier, plus the currencies of Hades, Canphor VI, Canphor VII, and Lodin XI. The value of each is pegged to the daily exchange rate of the Democracy credit as determined on Deluros VIII."
"Please give me their climactic and gravitational readouts."
"All three moons were terraformed by the same Republic Pioneer team, and are identical in climate and gravity," responded the eomputer. "Gravity is .98 percent Earth and Deluros Standard, temperature is a constant twenty-two degrees Celsius by day and seventeen degrees Celsius by night, atmosphere is Earth and Deluros VIII normal."
"Do they all have spaceports?"
"They possess spaceports for Class H and smaller ships. Larger ships are required to dock in orbiting hangars."
"There doesn't seem much to choose among them," remarked Chandler.
It was neither a question nor a command, so the computer did not respond.
"Which one is closest to Hades?"
"Port Marrakech."
"All right," said Chandler. "Port Marrakech it is."
His landing was uneventful, and shortly thereafter he made his way through the crowded spaceport. He spotted a few faces here and there that he remembered seeing on Wanted posters, but he paid them no attention, concentrating only on making his way to the main exit. Once outside, he hailed a groundcar that took him into the heart of the nearby city -- as far as he could tell the only city on Port Marrakech. The buildings boasted numerous exotic arches and angles, and most of them had been whitewashed. He was unaware of the genesis of the name "Marrakech," but he assumed that it was a city somewhere in the galaxy that greatly resembled the one in which he now found himself; the architecture was too much of a piece, and too different from the other worlds he had seen, not to have been carefully planned.
"Where to now?" asked the driver as they entered the heavy traffic of the city center.
"I've never been here before," replied Chandler. "Can you recommend a hotel?"
"With or without?"
"With or without what?"
The driver shrugged. "Whatever you want -- women, men, drugs, gambling, you name it."
"Without, I think."
The driver grinned. "That may be a little harder. This isn't the Democracy, you know."
Chandler leaned forward and handed him a fifty-credit note. "Why don't you fill me in?" he suggested.
"You thirsty?" asked the driver.
"Should I be?"