"Chalker, Jack L - G.o.d. Inc. 2 - The Shadow Dancers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

too scared and confused for that. The black-clad men looked us over like we was
horses or somethin', then Jenner said, "You all been sold to a man up north. You
go with these men and follow their orders."
That was it; no good-byes, no nothin'-just go on, get in the back of the truck,
and off. Well-not quite. When we got to the truck the men put chains on us. They
didn't feel heavy, so I guess they were some kind of strong new metal-they felt
like aluminum but were hard as steel. They cuffed us hands in front, with about
a foot's worth of chain between, and they cuffed our legs with maybe two feet of
chain between. I don't know why they chained us-where was we gonna go?-but they
did, then loaded us into the truck, which was a kinda pickup truck with one of
them caps on the back. It wasn't no camper, though; it was heated but you just
sorta sat on the floor and that was it. There was a coupla boxes in there, too,
but we didn't dare open 'em. Crazy thing was, I got a little thrill, even got a
little turned on, by wearin' the chains.
Once we started off, though, we all got to cryin' a little. It was like bein'
torn from the only family and world we knew.
After a while, though, Lavinia kinda took charge. She was more aggressive than
we was. She even went to the little window and looked out, and after a while we
did, too.
The impressions of the trip are just that-impressions. The highways looked real
fancy, like our interstates, and had a lot of little cars on 'em. We went
through a city, I don't know which, and it looked real ugly, all sterile gray
with block after block of tall, dirty buildin's and lots of even uglier industry
belchin' smoke into the gray day. Most of the people we saw moved like they was
always tired, dressed in plain clothes. Clearly the white folks here didn't have
much fun, neither. The good life, if it existed at all, was for the big shots.
And that, maybe, was the craziest thing of all. The more we saw of that white
world, the less we wanted of it. We had no responsibilities, little work, no
cares. Nobody would want to escape into that world. Even bein' wrenched and sold
we were still secure and safe. No decisions, no responsibilities. It's scary to
me to think that people can be brought up and conditioned to think that way,
even now. Still and all, it was that world that did it, partly. It was a gray
world filled with people with gray souls; a world without hope. They was all
property, all slaves, white and black. The only difference was, nobody expected
nothin' from us.
They stopped the truck off and on, to stretch their legs and ours. They had one
of them porta-potties for us and the boxes had cold, hard versions of the cakes
and sweet stuff they'd fed us back at the farm and a jug of water. That was all
for us. Every once in a while they'd stop the truck someplace and get out,
sometimes for quite a while, just leavin' us inside, while they ate or whatever.
They were pretty ordinary-lookin' white men 'cept for their fancy uniforms and
shiny boots, but we'd flaunt it a little for 'em.
"Tempted to take 'em all on, Pete?" the one asked. "They might be too much for
you."
"Nigresses? You got to be kiddin'. I ain't that hard up. Why? You tempted?"
"Yeah, sorta."
"Well, forget it. Vogel'll run 'em through every test in the world. You know the
rules. He gets 'em first. Don't trust no real women not to cut his balls off."
"Aw, what's he care? These ain't virgins. Look at 'em."
"Well, you do what you want, but the last guy who did that wound up dangling