"C. J. Ryan - Gloria VanDeen 4 - Burdens of Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ryan C.J)

Aside from the gaggle of media reps and the cluster of official greeters, both human and
native, there was not a lot to see. His Cruiser had splashed down in a broad, sluggish river,
brown and oilyтАФthe local Mississippi or Amazon, he supposed. The dun-colored landscape
offered little in the way of vegetation or relief, and the chill, steady wind sweeping in from the
river felt unfriendly and forbidding. The sky was cloudless but yellowed from its cargo of dust
and debris, and the single cold star provided a weak, unflattering orange radiance.

In the distance, the dark towers and crenellated walls of the city looked medieval, and the
smaller structures dappling the plain could have been the huts and hovels of serfs. A patina of
age clung to the placeтАФa reminder of the weary millennia of experience boasted by this
civilization, which had achieved star travel when humans were still scrimmaging with
Neanderthals and mammoths. Yet it was this world that had been conquered and occupied by
the upstart humans and their burgeoning EmpireтАФan outcome emphasized by the sheltering
canopy of military vehicles that patrolled the ugly sky above.

Denastri, he thought. Well, heтАЩd seen worse.

Kenarbin took it all in, then turned to face his welcoming committee and offered them a
hearty smile. It was met by unsteady grins from the humans and the blank, impassive gaze of
the indigsтАФEmpire slang for indigenous species. The Denastri, he had been told, were not a
demonstrative race, and the expressions on their alien faces might have meant anything at all,
or nothing.
 We are not welcome here.

The unavoidable thought did not trouble Kenarbin unduly. Humans werenтАЩt really
welcome in most places they went. It didnтАЩt matter. The Empire was here, and it was here to
stay. It was KenarbinтАЩs job to get the locals to accept that immutable fact. They donтАЩt have to like
us, he reminded himself, and we donтАЩt have to like them.

Lord Kenarbin had been coming to places like this for more than half a century,
representing the Empire with skill and imagination. In the process, he had become something
of a legend, having pulled Imperial fat from fires that might have consumed lesser negotiators.
His reputation was well and justly earned, and if the job had become familiar from repetition, it
remained a point of pride with him to do it to the best of his considerable ability. These days,
Emperors used him sparingly, recognizing that his very presence magnified the significance of
any mission on which he embarked: Kenarbin was here because Denastri was important, and
Denastri was important because Kenarbin was here.

Three years earlier, in a swift and relatively bloodless little war, the Imperial Navy had
smashed the small, antique Denastri fleet, putting an abrupt end to thirty thousand years of
conflict within the minor grouping of stars known to Terrans as the McGowan Cluster. While
the local tides swept endlessly back and forth between the Denastri and their neighbors, a
millennium of relentless human expansion had finally brought the Terran Empire to the
doorstep of the McGowan Cluster, 1053 light-years from Earth, and henceforth the locals
would have to behave themselves. The backwater world of Denastri, and everything on it or
under itтАФparticularly the latterтАФnow belonged to the Empire. His Imperial Highness Charles
V had decreed peace, and peace there would be.

Some of the locals had refused to believe or accept this turn of events, and even the