"Roger Taylor - Prisoner Of History" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

was from Gwar, another from Locus, yet a third from Far Krelling. One had been
sent for murder, another for insurrection, and a third for stealing a loaf of
bread. They spoke of friends and family, wives and lovers, wealth and poverty,
dreams and delusions, all left behind now, for best or worst.

One tall fellow, still just a boy, told how he had splashed paint all over the
Emperor's portrait and been chased by the police for nearly two leagues before
he was caught. "It was just a lark," he said. "I didn't mean nothing by it. My
dad and me, we always stood up for the Emperor on Parade Day. He always said to
me, 'Chengo, always praise the Emperor and give him honor.' It was just for fun.
I didn't mean nothing by it."

The talk came to Trobar. Eyes turned to him, and he said, "I was an Historian at
the Imperial University, in the Capitol. I specialized in the reign of
Chankrondor IV. I had tenure. I could have become a Professor. But I was
arrested for not knowing what kind of meeting I went to. Did I tell you that I
had tenure?"

Everyone laughed at that, and Trobar did not feel particularly foolish, for if
any of them had been wise they would not be here.

The Emperor Chankrondor IV, when released from imprisonment, had set to work
reforming the administration of Law. He had established the Penal Colony system
that had caused his Empire to grow in size and wealth, and had been able to pass
his bounty down through his descendants, so that now the Emperor Chankrondor XXV
ruled not only over Home, but three other planets as well. Trobar p'Arvellhion
once had thought this a great and good thing.

Now he did not know how to feel about it. He laid his head against the window of
the bus, staring out at the night streaming by, trying to imagine how it might
have been, if he had turned down Chenkor's offer, gone back to work on that
article for the Royal Historical Journal instead. He had worked hard to receive
tenure, and with that behind him, the way was open for a professorship. Surely
he would have been married by now. There had been several ladies who had their
eyes on him, waiting for the time when he could relax from his studies long
enough to contemplate the next move in his career. The dean's daughter had been
interested in him. He remembered her as having a bright and pretty face. Perhaps
children would have come by now. He did not know the proper timing of these
things, but he could imagine himself with children now. For some reason, as he
thought about it, he pictured himself with a daughter, with long golden hair,
clutching his hand as they walked across the campus together.

He fell asleep with that image in his mind, and a deep sense of loneliness and
loss within his heart. The bus plunged on, farther and farther into the
wilderness.
Trobar woke deep in the night. He had been dreaming of his work as a prisoner,
moving dust, tending seedlings, setting plants out in rows, digging wells and
laying irrigation pipe. Alone, he hoisted the pipe, dropped it, and stood
watching as water came flowing out, spreading like a lake, and the red dust
began to turn green. Thirsty, he lay down to drink, and then awoke with his head