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

against the plastic of the window. The bus jerked and the engine roared suddenly
as the driver began shifting down and braking to a stop. Ahead of them in the
road was a light, like a single star fallen to earth, waving back and forth.

"It's freebooters, lads," the driver grumbled. "Just do as they say and we'll
all be well."

Everyone was silent as a man with a hood motioned them out of the bus with the
muzzle of his slug-gun. It was not bright and shiny like the guns of the guards,
but rather rusty and dirty. It might not even be able to fire, but no one wanted
to find out. These were men who had grown used to obedience and passivity. They
did what they were told, sullenly but silently. The gun was, perhaps, not even
necessary.

They stood shivering in the cold of the night, as five hooded figures walked up
and down the line they had formed. None of them knew what to expect from the
freebooters. They had heard rumors of them -- the proud, defiant ones who
refused still to bow the knee to the Emperor, even after years of servitude, who
refused the colonial offer and chose instead to roam the waste places of
T'arnp'ur. How they lived, no one knew. Some, surely, roved as thieving bands.
Others were said to have established their own settlements in canyons and
valleys far from the colony settlements.

The man with the gun spoke loudly. "We're freebooters, men. No doubt you've
heard of those like us. Don't be afraid of the hoods. We just wear them so you
won't have to identify us during those times when we come to walk about in the
colony. We're here to offer you a chance to join us. We won't take just any, but
if you're what we need, we'll welcome you. We can't promise you much, yet, not
even as much as the colony can -but we can promise that you'll never have to bow
your knee to the emperor back on his dirt-ball. One day, after we've worked hard
enough, we'll be able to kick him and his goons off this planet, and this'll be
Home then. What do you say, men? You may think you're freedmen, but you're just
trading slavery for slavery. Come with us, if you're what we need, and your
children will be freeborn."

The four other freebooters walked along the line of men, talking with them,
asking where they were from on Home, what they had done, and what they wanted
now. One of them stopped in front of Trobar. "And what about you?" he said.

Trobar was eager to be wanted, to be needed. He had a sudden vision of himself
with his knowledge helping to establish a new social order. "I'm Trobar
p'Arvellhion, of the Imperial University in the Capitol. I had tenure. I'm an
Historian, an expert on the reign of the Emperor Chankron --"

The man laughed. He turned and called out loudly to the leader, "Krate, this
one's a bloody historian."

The freebooters all laughed. Their laughter was infectious. The men who stood
waiting under the gun, eager for any sign of goodwill on the part of their
captors, joined in. Even Trobar felt himself giggle. He felt suddenly very