"Timothy Zahn - Blackcollar 3 - The Judas Solution" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zahn Timothy)

- Prologue

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 - Prologue




PROLOGUE
A sprinkling of new snow had fallen overnight on the western slopes of the Bernese Oberland in central
Switzerland, and Security Prefect Jamus Galway found himself squinting against the reflected early-
morning sunlight as he walked down the transport's entry ramp. It had taken five months of slow and
painstaking investigation, but at last the search was about to come to an end.
Maybe.
A young man was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, and even through slitted eyelids Galway
could see the other's face go suddenly rigid as the prefect's escort appeared in the shuttle's hatchway
behind him. It was the same reaction he'd encountered nearly everywhere he'd gone in the past five
months, from the back streets of central Europe to the elite governmental centers of New Geneva. Even
here on Earth, after thirty years of Ryqril rule over what had once been the proudly independent Terran
Democratic Empire, the vast majority of TDE citizens had never seen a Ryq up close and personal.
Even fewer of those citizens had seen a khassq-class warrior like the one now striding down the ramp a
pace behind him. Certainly fewer living citizens. Most people who found themselves facing a khassq
didn't survive the encounter.
The young man had his expression under control again by the time Galway reached the bottom of the
ramp. "Prefect Galway," he said formally. "I'm Security Lieutenant Albert Weissmann. Welcome to
Interlaken."
"Thank you," Galway said, gesturing to his escort. "This is Taakh, khassq-class warrior of the Ryqril."
"Honored, Your Eminence," Weissmann said, bowing low. His voice, Galway noted with approval and
mild surprise, was calm and steady.
Approval, because that was how one was supposed to face humanity's conquerors. Surprise, because if
there was anyone on Earth right now who could inspire fear and trembling in those around him, it was
Taakh. His well-muscled bulk topped Galway's own height by a good thirty centimeters, and even in the
cold of central Europe he wore nothing above the waist except the elaborately tooled belt and baldric
combination that indicated his rank and authority. Fastened to the belt at his right hip was a large laser
pistol, while a wide-bladed short sword with carved hilt rode its sheath on his left. "I trust the region's
been locked down?" Galway asked, looking around at the rows of neat homes and businesses stretched
out beneath the towering mountains in the distance.
"Yes, sir, since two o'clock this morning," Weissmann confirmed.
Less than half an hour after Galway had sent out the order. "Excellent," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Weissmann said. "We take orders from New Geneva very seriously."
"Of course," Galway said, trying not to sound cynical. Neither Weissmann nor any of his people had any
real choice in the matter, of course, any more than Galway himself did. All TDE Security officers,
government employees, scientists, and top business people were routinely loyalty-conditioned by the
Ryqril to be incapable of revolt, sedition, or even serious misbehavior. There was nothing Weissmann's