"Anderson, Poul - Polesotechnic League - Fire Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

Clad in the usual blouse and slacks of townsfolk, she stood tall, long-legged, barely on the feminine side of leanness. Her head was long too, the face rather narrow though bearing a wide full mouth, nose classically straight, eyes cobalt blue and heavy-lashed under level brows. Sunlight had browned and slightly freckled a fair skin. Dark-blond and straight, her hair fell to her shoulders, controlled by a silver-and-leather filigree band he had given her. She had stuck a bronzy saru feather in the back of it.

"You're ready to be bred, all right," Larreka agreed.
"When and who to?"

He hadn't expected she would flush and mumble, "Not yet," then immediately ask: "How's the family? Did Meroa come along?"

"Yes. I left her at the ranch."

"Shucks, why?" she challenged. "You've got a far nicer wife than you deserve, for your information."

"Don't tell her." His pleasure faded. "This is no furlough for me. I'm bound on to Sehala for an assembly, afterward back to Valennen as soon as may be; and Meroa will stay behind."

Jill stood quite still for a space before she responded low: "Are things getting that bad there?"

"Worse."

"Oh." Another pause. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"The trouble blew up damn near overnight. I wasn't sure at first. We could just have been having a run of foul luck. When I knew better, I called to demand an assembly, then took ship."

"Why didn't you call us for air transport?"

"What use? You can't bring in everybody. Even if you had enough aircraft, which I doubt, a lot of speakers wouldn't ride in them. So we couldn't get a quorum together sooner than I could arrive by sea and land."
Larreka gusted a sigh. "Meroa and I needed a vacation anyway—it's been spiky, this past year—and the trip gave us that."

Jill nodded. He had no cause to explain the reasons for his route to her. Under better conditions, the fastest way would have been entirely waterbome, from Port Rua in the South of Valennen to Liwas at the mouth of the Jayin and upriver to Sehala. But at present there were too many equinoctial gales, swelled by the red sun - Besides risk of shipwreck, sailors faced the likelihood of a voyage that contrary storms lengthened by weeks. Safest was to island-hop through the Fiery Sea, make harbor on the North Beronnen coast, then hike across the Dalag, the Badlands, the Red Hills, the Middle Forest, and the Thunderhead Range to the Jayin Valley: mostly wilderness and a lot of it pretty barren, but nothing that an old campaigner couldn't get through at a goodly clip.

"Well, I've been out in the field awhile," she said.
"Fossicking around in the Stony Mountains till day before yesterday. Probably I've not gotten what news God or lan Sparling now have." Her reference wasn't theological; Goddard Haftshaw was the mayor.

"They don't, aside from doubtless having heard the speakers will assemble soon. How could I've called them on the march? That's why I've stopped off here, to see your leaders and try for a word from them that I can bring along to Sehala."

Again Jill nodded. "I forgot. Silly of me. I'm too used to instant communications, simply add hot air and stir."

She was in a different boat from him, Larreka reflected indulgently. A standard-size portable transceiver would reach to one of the relays the humans had planted throughout the southern half of this continent, and it would buck the voice on. But greater distances required a big transmitter and those relays the newcomers had put on the moons. Thus far they hadn't built more than four such stations—being, after all, at the end of a mighty long and thin supply line from Earth—Primavera, in Sehala, in Light Place on the Haelen coast, and, barely ten years ago, in Port Rua. It was ironic that, posted away off to Darkness-and-gone in the northern hemisphere, he'd been able to talk from end to end of the Gathering, a meridian arc ten thousand kilometers in length; and then, as he approached the center of civilization, his walkie-talkie had gone deaf and dumb.

Jill took his arm. "They don't expect you, hey?" she said. "C'mon, let me make the arrangements. I want to listen in."

"Why not?" he answered. "Though you won't like what you hear."

An hour passed. Jill whirled off to collect the men she had mentioned, who were carrying out jobs in the neighborhood. Meanwhile Larreka led his troopers to the single inn Primavera boasted. Mainly it dealt in beer, wine, pool games, darts, the occasional dinner out;

but it had accommodations for humans, whether these be transients or new chums who'd soon get permanent digs, and for visiting Ishtarians. Larreka saw his squad settled in and told the proprietor to bill the city for them as per long-standing agreement. He didn't warn them not to run it riotously high. They were good lads who'd keep the honor of the legion in mind.

Nor did he make arrangements for himself. Jill had written two years ago that she'd moved from her parents'home to a rented cottage which had an Ishtarian-outfitted chamber—it dated back several of her generations, to when scholars of both races were working constantly and intimately in an effort at mutual understanding—and if he didn't stay with her anytime he was in town, she'd be cut to the squick. ("That's 'squick.' It bleeds more.")

He proceeded to the mayor's home-cum-office. A community like Primavera needed little steering. Most of Hanshaw's duties involved Earth; shipping companies,
individual scientists and technics considering a job here,
bureaucrats of the World Federation when they got the urge to meddle, national politicians who could be a bigger nuisance.