"Martin H. Greenberg & Mark Tier - Visions of Liberty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenberg Martin H)

mining town calling itself Struth. Then someone struck it rich, and the manipulators took over. After the
usual period of underhanded contrivance and downright chicanery, Old Albert emerged triumphant.

When he died, his widow hired a factor, one Jeffrey Wallingford Pummery, to manage the world for her,
after which she shook the sands of Llayless from her heels forever. One of the factor's first acts was to
manipulate a name change. Llayless's principal commercial center, Struth, became Pummery, thus
splashing the factor's own name prominently on the world's map. No one objected. As long as Pummery
operated efficiently and honestly and kept her royalties coming, the widow didn't bother herself with
minor things like name changes. The factor was, for all that Dantler had heard, a shrewd and honest
operator who built for the future.

The Llayless desert was a terrible place for a world's commercial center, but Pummery was perfectly
situated to serve mining operations in the mountains on all sides. The narrow-gauge electric railway lines
bringing ore to the smelters from the mines were able to coast down the mountain slopes, thus hauling
their loads at a profit because they generated electricity in the process. The only cost was for replacing
their frequently worn-out brakes.

Those mines were rich enough to occupy the Llayless Mining Corporation for years to come. Until they
played out, the remainder of the world would remain untouched.

The 'bus stopped in front of the Llayless Mining Corporation's world headquarters. Dantler climbed out
along with several others who had come to Llayless on business, left his space trunk to be delivered to a
sprawling, dilapidated, one-story building farther along the town's central street—its faded sign bore the
message " . . . OTEL" —and stood regarding the headquarters building with puzzled scrutiny. Apparently
Jeffrey Wallingford Pummery did not go in for luxury, as he was using the same ramshackle three-story
building that had been Old Albert's headquarters. It hadn't even been treated to a new coat of paint for
years.

Dantler's fellow passengers entered the building ahead of him. Either they were directed at once to the
departments that concerned them or they already knew the way because they had vanished by the time
Dantler entered. He approached the receptionist, a pert, overalled young lady with bluish blond hair. She
eyed him disdainfully. The lobby proctor took in Dantler's appearance with a snort and decided not to
like his looks. He took a step forward.

Dantler proffered a letter to the young lady—the same he had shown the clerk at the port. She glanced
at it, glanced at Dantler again, and suddenly decided to read it slowly and with care. The proctor came
forward and read over her shoulder. When the young lady had finished her reading and made a copy of
the letter, the proctor took it and read it a second time.

His attitude had flip-flopped. "Mr. Pummery's personal offices occupy the third floor," he said politely.
"If you will follow me, please, I'll show you to the tubes." The levitation tubes were J. Wallingford
Pummery's one concession to modern comfort. Probably he became tired of negotiating three flights of
stairs to and from his office several times a day.

The receptionist must have warned everyone that Dantler was coming. He moved as if by magic through
the various barricades that Pummery had erected to protect himself from unwanted intruders. Five
minutes later, having been shown into a cramped office that was as spartan as Dantler expected, Dantler