"Jack Williamson - Hindsight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

their bases in the asteroids, and gradually turned to commerce instead of raiding."
His voice was injured and defiant. "But, so far as I'm concerned, the Astrarchy
is just as respectable as such planet nations as Earth and Mars and the Jovian
Federation. And it's a good deal more wealthy and powerful than any of them."
Tensefaced, the Martian girl shook her dark head. "Don't blind yourself, Bill,"
she begged urgently. "Can't you see that the Astrarch really is no different from any
of the old pirates? His fleets still seize any independent vessel, or make the owners
ransom it with his spacepatrol tax."
She caught an indignant breath. "Everywhereeven here on Mars-the agents and
residents and traders of the Astrarch have brought graft and corruption and
oppression. The Astrarch is using his wealth and his space power to undermine the
government of every independent planet. He's planning to conquer the system!"
Her brown eyes flashed. "You won't aid him, Bill. Youcouldn't!" Bill Webster
looked into the tanned, intent loveliness of her facehe wanted suddenly to kiss the
smudge of yellow dust on her impudent little nose. He had loved Elora Ronee, had
once hoped to take her back to Earth. Perhaps he still loved her. But now it was
clear that she had always wanted Tony Grimm.
Half angrily, he kicked an ironreddened pebble. "If things had been different,
Elora, it might have been" With an abrupt little shrug, he looked back at Tony.
"Anyhow," he said flatly, "I'm leaving for Astrophon tonight."
That evening, after they had helped him pack, he made a bonfire of his old
books and papers. They burned palely in the thin air of Mars, with a cloud of acrid
smoke.
That sharp odor was the line that had drawn Brek Veronar back across the
years, when his nostrils stung to the scorchedpaper scent. The cigar came from a
box that had just arrived from Cuba, Earthmade to his special order.
He could afford such luxuries. Sometimes, in fact, he almost regretted the high
place he had earned in the Astrarch's favor. The space officers, and even his own
jealous subordinates in the arsenal laboratory, could never forget that he was an
Earthmanthe Renegade.
The cigar's odor puzzled him.
Deliberately, he crushed out the smoldering tip, peeled off the brown wrapper
leaves. He found a tightly rolled paper cylinder. Slipping off the rubber bands, he
opened it. A glimpse of the writing set his heart to thudding.
It was the hand of Elora Ronee!
Brek Veronar knew that fine graceful script. For once Bill Webster had treasured
a little note that she had written him, when they were friends at school. He read it
eagerly:

DEAR BILL:

This is the only way we can hope to get word to you, past the Astrarch's spies.
Your old name, Bill, may seem strange to you. But weTony and Iwant you to
remember that you are an Earthman.
You can't know the oppression that Earth now is suffering, under the Astrarch's
heel. But independence is almost gone. Weakened and corrupted, the government
yields everywhere. Every Earthman's life is choked with taxes and unjust penalties
and the unfair competition of the Astrarch traders.
But Earth, Bill, has not completely yielded. We are going to strike for liberty.
Many years of our livesTony's and minehave gone into the plan. And the toil and the