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

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.

Chapter 5

While the passengers of the City of Asgard prepared for the last leg to
Zarathustra-or Xerxes-it was early morning on Beta Continent and coffee-break
time in Mallorysport.

Up Cold Creek Canyon from the Snake River, the K0 sun of Zarathustra slanted
orangish light across the growing settlement which the latest maps called
Holloway Station. A year ago the place had been a quiet one-man camp from
which Jack Holloway prospected for sunstones and lived a peaceably solitary
life.

There wasn't much stirring at this hour of the morning, but later on the place
would be bustling with activity. Jack Holloway still lived here, but not in
the privacy and seclusion he would have preferred. The place was now the
administrative center for the Native Affairs Commission.

For the first several weeks, the Commission had been operated out of
Holloway's own bungalow from a jumble of
cardboard-boxes-turned-filing-cabinets, extra tables, and steno equipment