"Tuning, William - Terro-Human - Fuzzy 04 - Fuzzy Bones 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuning William)

Sixteen years earlier, Mallorysport had been a cluster of log and prefab huts beside an improvised landing field. The town had not grown up out of the ground like a tree. People had built it. And, it was built, for the most part, by people like those who were now crowded into the lower decks of the City of Asgard-people who were betting every last centisol they had that they could make a go of it on a new world.

Some, though, would wind up in Junktown when they found the streets of Mallorysport were not actually paved with sunstones.

The Rev ran his finger around his throat, between the cleric's collar and his neck. The warmth of his hand, brushing across the sunstone in his neckcloth, caused the gem to flare brighter, which cast a glossy light against the ring on his right little finger.

"You figure there are a lot of souls to save in Mallorysport, then?" Helton said conversationally.

The Rev pulled his finger out from under his collar with a disdainful gesture. "I told you I don't save souls," he said. "Leave that for the Orthodox-Monophysites. I just help God look out for people who can't look out for themselves- temporarily or permanently. Theology has to pay its own freight; I don't preach."

"What about the souls of the Furries?" Christiana put in. "Don't-"

"Fuzzies," Helton interrupted irritably. "You mean Fuzzies."

"Sure," she said. "Fuzzies. What about the souls of the Fuzzies. Don't they need saving?"

"Don't know," The Rev said. "Their souls may be in better shape than ours are. On the other hand they might not be what people think they are, these Fuzzies. I make up my mind about such things when I've seen for myself."

"Sounds odd coming from a priest," Christiana said.

"So it might," The Rev agreed, "so it might. I don't worry too much about this intellectual stuff. We have priests in my order who sit around with computers and try to mathematically calculate the ages of the prophets and the angels. That's swell for them; I just go to where there are people who are hurting and try to put something in their bellies and keep them from catching the polka-dot plague."

She smiled. "Is that why they sent you to such a helluva-such a Nifflheim of a place? According to my packet, there isn't a religious congregation on Zarathustra."

The Rev took a long, noisy suck at his drink, then smacked his lips. "Don't be particular about cussing around me, daughter," he said. "I don't give a damn one way or the other."

He paused, staring at the observation screen. "If my superior had his way-or wanted to spend that much more money-I suppose he would have sent me even further into the celestial boondocks. Someplace like the Gartner Trisys-tem. I hear that's real rough-and-ready country since crazy old Genji Gartner died at Storisende. Everyone's been wearing out holsters to see who's going to control Poictesme."

"But don't they have a chartered company there?" Christiana asked, "With a Resident General and Federation troops?"

The Rev laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, sweetheart," he said, "and all the settled planets in the trisystem are Federation members. So what?"

She wasn't so sure of what she meant, now. "Well, if they have a colonial government, how can law and order break down that way-just over the death of one man?-even if he did establish the first settlement on the planet."

"Systematically," The Rev said-genuinely amused, now. "Systematically. You know how long it takes just to get some heavy Federation troops out here?"

Helton frowned for a moment, being logical. "Out there-not less than a year's turnaround time."

"Right," The Rev said. "Six months going and six more coming back. If you squawk for troops out here, it takes at least a year to get any-if you get any. The Federation may decide the request is unwarranted and just send back a message that says 'Sorry.' "

"Even at that," Helton said, "it's usually all over by the time they get there. Most often, the only thing left for troops to do is put some muscle behind the reorganized government and make sure it's going to honor the old trade agreements that made the place worth commercial traffic to begin with."

Christiana looked shocked, and just a little bit frightened by what they had said. "Th-that couldn't happen on Zarathustra, could it?"

The Rev shrugged. "The Federation depends on every planet to do its own policing. A charter company or colony world is only as tough as the fist on the end of its own arm. I don't suppose things could really fall apart on Zarathustra." He gestured toward the moon in the observation screen. "The Navy's right close at hand, there, on Xerxes-or Darius-whatever-but things could get pretty wild and woolly under the right set of circumstances. You know- push come to shove and all that. . .

"Which, I suspect, is why our friend here is arriving- after just enough time has passed for word to get to Terra and for someone to be assigned to the job-to audit weapons systems and readiness levels. Am I right, Gunnie?"

Helton smiled.