"Allen, Roger MacBride - Chronicles Of Solace 2 - Ocean Of Years" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen Roger Macbride)

“How could they not believe evidence this strong—”
Neshobe held up a hand to silence him. “Because they don’t,” she said. “I agree
your evidence is solid, and our scientists on Greenhouse have fallen in love
with the models based on Baskaw’s work. But life would be so much better for so
many people, if only it were all wrong, and you were a fraud.” She stared at him
a mo­ment. “Life would certainly be easier for me, I can tell you. So we need
proof you didn’t fake the whole thing. Proof that you were there on the PPC,
when you said you were, and that the books were there too—and better still, that
they are still there, on the shelf, right where you left them. Bring that proof
back, and maybe we’ll have enough proof to convince the unbelievers—or at least
silence them.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Koffield said.
“No,” she agreed. “But we need it done. Enough so that I’ll have to make it a
condition for assisting you.”
He considered for a moment, then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Whatever
evidence there is, we’ll get.”
“Good,” she said. “How long until you’d be ready to go?”
Koffield frowned. Neshobe had the impression he had expected her to need more
convincing—but running the planet had already convinced her of how bad things
were. Any tiny chance for hope was worth reaching out for.
“Well,” Koffield said, “there’s a lot of research we have to do, a lot of
planning. We’ll need a ship—”
“We’ll refit the Dom Pedro IV for you. How long?”
Koffield looked flat-out startled. Plainly, he was not used to being
interrupted. “About two months. But that’s assuming we can get—”
Neshobe Kalzant let him see the fear in her eyes, even as she read the cold,
hard, anger in his. Koffield had his own reasons for wanting this trip. Oh, yes,
indeed. She thought of the other passages in that letter, the one that spoke of
the crimes DeSilvo had committed against Koffield, all for the common good.
“You’ll get,” she said, “whatever you need.” She reached out to her desk and
touched the letter again. “You command the mission, Marquez commands the ship.
Just so long as it all stays very, very, quiet—and you bring back whatever it is
he’s got—and proof of your claims.”



She remained there for a time, long after Koffield had left. There was a lot to
consider. Koffield, for one. He had played things square up to now—but there
would certainly come a time when his priorities no longer coin­cided with hers.
And he would be out there, somewhere, far beyond the Solacian system, out from
under the watch they had kept on him.
Or maybe there was a way to keep the watch going. They needed someone on the
inside, on the ship. But Solacian politics more or less guaranteed that whoever
they put aboard ship would be working for more than one master—and perhaps would
feel no loyalty to her at all. Tricky however she did it. She thought for a
further time, then spun about in her chair, putting the rain, the endless rain,
at her back. There was one fairly obvious candidate. She spoke into the empty
air. “Commander Raenau, on SCO Station,” she said to the listening Arti­ficial
Intelligence. “Place the call.”
Felipe Henrique Marquez, master of the Timeshaft Dropship Dom Pedro IV, was