"Robert A. Heinlein - Citizen of the Galaxy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

„Then get on with it! Or cuff that starved varmint aside and show us
merchandise.“
„You are kind, my lord.“ The auctioneer raised his voice. „I have been asked
to be quick and I am sure my noble employer would agree. Let me be frank.
This beautiful lad is young; his new owner must invest instruction in him.
Therefore—„ The boy hardly listened. He knew only a smattering of this
language and what was said did not matter anyhow. He looked over the
veiled ladies and elegant men, wondering which one would be his new
problem.
„—a low starting price and a quick turnover. A bargain! Do I hear twenty
stellars?“
The silence grew awkward. A lady, sleek and expensive from sandaled feet
to lace-veiled face, leaned toward the dandy, whispered and giggled. He
frowned, took out a dagger and pretended to groom his nails. „I said to get on
with it,“ he growled.
The auctioneer sighed. „I beg you to remember, gentlefolk, that I must
answer to my patron. But we’ll start still lower. Ten stellars—yes, I said. ‚Ten.’
Fantastic!“
He looked amazed. „Am I growing deaf? Did someone lift a finger and I fail to
see it? Consider, I beg you. Here you have a fresh young lad like a clean
sheet of paper; you can draw any design you like. At this unbelievably low
price you can afford to make a mute of him, or alter him as your fancy
pleases.“
„Or feed him to the fish!“
„ ‚Or feed him—‚ Oh, you are witty, noble sir!“
„I’m bored. What makes you think that sorry item is worth anything? Your
son, perhaps?“
The auctioneer forced a smile. „I would be proud if he were. I wish I were
permitted to tell you this lad’s ancestry—„
„Which means you don’t know.“
„Though my lips must be sealed, I can point out the shape of his skull, the
perfectly rounded curve of his ears.“ The auctioneer nipped the boy’s ear,
pulled it.
The boy twisted and bit his hand. The crowd laughed.
The man snatched his hand away. „A spirited lad. Nothing a taste of leather
won’t cure. Good stock, look at his ears. The best in the Galaxy, some say.“
The auctioneer had overlooked something; the young dandy was from
Syndon IV. He removed his helmet, uncovering typical Syndonian ears, long,
hairy, and pointed. He leaned forward and his ears twitched. „Who is your
noble protector?“
The old beggar Baslim scooted near the corner of the block, ready to duck.
The boy tensed and looked around, aware of trouble without understanding
why. The auctioneer went white—no one sneered at Syndonians face to face
. . . not more than once. „My lord,“ he gasped, „you misunderstood me.“

„Repeat that crack about ‚ears’ and ‚the best stock.’ „
Police were in sight but not close. The auctioneer wet his lips. „Be gracious,
gentle lord. My children would starve. I quoted a common saying—not my
opinion. I was trying to hasten a bid for this chattel . . . as you yourself
urged.“