"David Wingrove - Assimilation(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wingrove David)

Assimilation
a tale of the far future by David Wingrove

The Governor turned in his high-backed chair and looked out through the
open French windows and across the green. There was the solid thwack of
willow against leather and a ripple of applause as the two ungainly
batsmen took a single. On the far side of the green there was brief
movement beside the scoreboard as the slates were changed. 108 for 4 it
read now. The Governor smiled then turned back, facing his aide.
"They're doing well. Moving Davenport-Adams up the batting order has made
all the difference, don't you think?"
"Indisputably," the aide replied, his face-mask twitching. He stood there
on the far side of the great oak and walnut desk, straight-backed,
waiting, a leather-bound folder beneath his arm.
The Governor leaned back in his chair and smoothed the ends of his waxed
moustache. "You know, George, there are some who think that the real
purpose of the game is to contain one's opponent, to prevent him from
playing, but I've always argued that one should take the game to him,
aggressively and with style."
The aide smiled weakly. He had heard it all a hundred times. "Undoubtedly,
sir. But this other matter..."
The Governor sat forward slightly, nodding his long, high-domed head. "Ah
yes, the matter of the trader. Damned awkward, what?"
"Damned awkward, sir."
"He's here now, I take it, wanting to see me."
"That is so, Excellency. However, I thought there were one or two things
you ought to know before you saw him. For instance, we have now had the
opportunity to examine his ship."
"Good. And?"
The aide looked down briefly. It was only in circumstances like this that
one found out the limits of one's superiors. The Governor was a good,
solid man, there was no doubting that, but when it came to responding to a
situation of this kind...
He looked up. "It's a standard bulk cargo trader. A very old model, so I'm
told. Sub-light speed. There are one or two minor embellishments but
basically nothing unexpected. There's an old-fashioned cloning cabinet,
for instance, the genetic material of that matches the blood sample we
took from the trader. All pretty much as one might expect from a barbarian
race."
"I see. And what do you think he wants?"
"To trade, sir."
The Governor sat back, considering, the long fingers of one hand smoothing
the tip of his moustache once more. "Hmm. How odd."
Odd indeed. It had been nearly four thousand years since they had last
traded with anyone.
From the green outside came the distinct whack of willow against leather,
followed by a ripple of applause.
"You've traced where it came from, I assume."
"We have indeed, sir."
"And?"