"Asimov, Isaac - 2. Foundation and Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

fight for the glory of the Emperor."
"And thus serve His Imperial Majesty's interests and satisfy your own love of a
good fight."
"Exactly. But I must know what I fight; and there you can help."
"How do you know?"
Riose nibbled casually at a cakelet. "Because for three years I have traced
every rumor, every myth, every breath concerning the magicians – and of all the
library of information I have gathered, only two isolated facts are unanimously
agreed upon, and are hence certainly true. The first is that the magicians come
from the edge of the Galaxy opposite Siwenna; the second is that your father
once met a magician, alive and actual, and spoke with him."
The aged Siwennian stared unblinkingly, and Riose continued, "You had better
tell me what you know–"
Barr said thoughtfully, "It would be interesting to tell you certain things. It
would be a psychohistoric experiment of my own."
"What kind of experiment?"
"Psychohistoric." The old man had an unpleasant edge to his smile. Then,
crisply, "You'd better have more tea. I'm going to make a bit of a speech."
He leaned far back into the soft cushions of his chair. The wall-lights had
softened to a pink-ivory glow, which mellowed even the soldier's hard profile.
Ducem Barr began, "My own knowledge is the result of two accidents; the
accidents of being born the son of my father, and of being born the native of my
country. It begins over forty years ago, shortly after the great Massacre, when
my father was a fugitive in the forests of the South, while I was a gunner in
the viceroy's personal fleet. This same viceroy, by the way, who had ordered the
Massacre, and who died such a cruel death thereafter."
Barr smiled grimly, and continued, "My father was a Patrician of the Empire and
a Senator of Siwenna. His name was Onum Barr."
Riose interrupted impatiently, "I know the circumstances of his exile very well.
You needn't elaborate upon it."
The Siwennian ignored him and proceeded without deflection. "During his exile a
wanderer came upon him; a merchant from the edge of the Galaxy; a young man who
spoke a strange accent, knew nothing of recent Imperial history, and who was
protected by an individual force-shield."
"An individual force-shield?" Riose glared. "You speak extravagance. What
generator could be powerful enough to condense a shield to the size of a single
man? By the Great Galaxy, did he carry five thousand myria-tons of nuclear
power-source about with him on a little wheeled gocart?"
Barr said quietly, "This is the magician of whom you hear whispers, stories and
myths. The name 'magician' is not lightly earned. He carried no generator large
enough to be seen, but not the heaviest weapon you can carry in your hand would
have as much as creased the shield he bore."
"Is this all the story there is? Are the magicians born of maunderings of an old
man broken by suffering and exile?"
"The story of the magicians antedated even my father, sir. And the proof is more
concrete. After leaving my father, this merchant that men call a magician
visited a Tech-man at the city to which my father had guided him, and there he
left a shield-generator of the type he wore. That generator was retrieved by my
father after his return from exile upon the execution of the bloody viceroy. It
took a long time to find–