"David Feintuch - Seafort 07 - Chilren of Hope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feintuch David)

torrent. Well, last spring it had been, when Alex Hopewell and Sandy Plumwell and I had camped
by the river.
Never again. In scant months our campsite would be drowned.
Please, God, quiet your Bishop. My feet hurt, and he goes on forever, and I want to go exploring
with Kev.
Fooling with the atmosphere was undependable. Dad had banned all further experiments after the
meteorologists blamed the horrible March 2240 hurricane on forcibly shifted weather patterns.
Desalinization would do the job, but it was expensive, and would need water constantly pumped
upward from the Farreach Ocean to our fields. The cost of a traditional dam would be immense.
But a force-field dam . . . Anth had jumped on the idea, once the science was proven.
“Amen.” Henrod Andori switched off his holovid. Thank you, God.
It was almost enough to make me a believer.
2
I SQUIRMED AT Anthony Carr’s fingers on my shoulder, but was careful not to shrug them off.
We were in public, and he’d be really ticked if I made an issue of it, especially after the sharp
words we’d had a day ago. So what if I told our blustering crop manager what I thought of him? At
fourteen, I had little stomach for fools. Unfortunately, Anth didn’t see it that way, and today, I was
on a short leash. Too bad I didn’t have Kevin Dakko to whisper with, but he’d gone home to
Centraltown months ago.
In Anthony’s view, requiring a rebellious and protesting joeykid like me to attend a reception with
adults was both penalty and honor. I’d resigned myself to make the best of it, and circled dutifully
among the crowd of planters come to pay their respects. Even Mother was there, lost behind her
dreamy smile.
Anthony frowned at Vince Palabee, who waited for an answer. “We’ve a favorable balance of
trade with Earth, regardless of shipping costs.”
Overhead, Minor was just setting, and Major was near the horizon. We’d have to adjourn our
reception before long; at this time of year Hope Nation grew cool at dusk. At least Eastern
Continent did; I’d never been across Farreach Ocean to the Ventura Mountains, home of our
mining bases as well as our most beautiful scenery. Dad had always meant to take me, but. . .
The stocky planter’s tone was stubborn. “Anthony, the Terrans can raise their rates at will. They’ll
throttle us. And they will, to get even for the Declaration.” Dad’s Declaration, as Stadholder, that
had set us free from the U.N.
My keeper smiled with genial disregard. Anth thought that Palabee was an ass—he’d told me as
much—and disregarded his proposals in the Planters’ Council. Still, Anthony had to say
something. If nothing else, Palabee was his guest.
He flicked a thumb at the chubby Terran Ambassador refilling his punch glass from the bowl, at
the drinks table across the immaculate lawn. “McEwan is demanding we plant even more
acreage; Earth will take what grains we offer. They’re desperate, thanks to Seafort.” Anthony was
delighted that the former SecGen had led his planet to agricultural disaster, and saw great
advantage for us in the Terran fiasco.
I shouldn’t have stared; the Ambassador caught my eye, nodded, strolled our way.
As he neared, Vince Palabee eased away. At least he knew when he was outclassed.
I sighed, braced myself for more blather. Faintly, past the burble of conversation, came the yips
and squeals of other joeykids at the pond. I’d be swimming with them but for Anth’s insistence I
stay where he could keep an eye on me.
He didn’t know it, but I was more relieved than annoyed. Of late, I’d felt reluctant to jump bare from
the high rock with my fellow teeners. I’d get a great view of Judy Winthrop that way, but she’d also
get a view of me. Since I’d turned fourteen, two months back, it made me uneasy. Not that it
bothered Alex Hopewell, brash and muscular at sixteen. But, come to think of it, Alex hadn’t spent
much time at the swimming hole a couple of years ago. I brightened. Perhaps I wasn’t so odd.