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

"Oh, it's there, all right," The Rev said, tapping his index finger alongside
his nose as though he could smell the place already. "Wherever Terrans go,
vice and squalor are in hot pursuit and soon pitch camp with the rest of the
pilgrims."

Chapter 4

He was right, of course. The slum of Mallorysport had the name Junktown and in
it teemed the throngs of the unwashed and the unfortunate-losers, thieves,
gamblers, cut-throats, prostitutes, dope-runners, racketeers, hoodlums, the
impoverished, and the eternally down-on-their-luck.

Though there were only the three in the first-class lounge, the economy-class
decks of the City of Asgard were crammed with a fresh crop of immigrants to be
deposited in Mallorysport. As soon as the word of the Pendarvis Decisions
reached Terra, colonists had stampeded toward Zarathustra. A Class-IV,
inhabited, planet. No more Company monopoly. Free land. A chance to make your
fortune. A chance to get away from Terra-where no one ever had enough room.

When they discovered that it might take longer than a couple of standard
galactic days to become deliriously rich, their grubstakes would start running
out.

The people who scraped together every sol they could lay hands on to migrate
to a colony world weren't just worthless bums, though; they all had skills,
knowledge, and abilities that were needed. The Chartered Zarathustra Company
had carved out the modern city of Mallorysport with such people and with the
intelligent management of their talents.

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