"Frank Herbert - Committee Of The Whole" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

Committee of the Whole
Frank Herbert, 1965




Chapter I

With an increasing sense of unease, Alan Wallace studied his client as they neared the
public hearing room on the second floor of the Old Senate Orace Building. The guy was too
relaxed.
'Bill, I'm worried about this,' Wallace said. 'You could damn well lose your grazing rights here
in this room today.'
They were almost into the gantlet of guards, reporters and TV cameramen before Wallace
got his answer.
'Who the hell cares?' Custer asked.
Wallace, who prided himself on being the Washington-type lawyer - above contamination
by complaints and briefs, immune to all shock - found himself tongue-tied with surprise.
They were into the ruck then and Wallace had to pull on his bold face, smiling at the press,
trying to soften the sharpness of that necessary phrase:
'No comment. Sorry.'
'See us after the hearing if you have any questions, gentlemen,' Custer said.
The man's voice was level and confident.
He has himself over-controlled, Wallace thought. Maybe he was just joking ... a graveyard
joke.
The marble-walled hearing room blazed with lights. Camera platforms had been raised above
the seats at the rear. Some of the smaller UHF stations had their cameramen standing on the
window ledges.
The subdued hubbub of the place eased slightly, Wallace noted, then picked up tempo as
William R. Custer - 'The Baron of Oregon' they called him - entered with his attorney, passed
the press tables and crossed to the seats reserved for them in the witness section.
Ahead and to their right, that one empty chair at the long table stood waiting with its aura
of complete exposure.
' Who the hell cares?'
That wasn't a Custer-type joke, Wallace reminded himself. For all his cattle-baron pose,
Custer held a doctorate in agriculture and degrees in philosophy, math and electronics. His
western neighbors called him 'The Brain'.
It was no accident that the cattlemen had chosen him to represent them here.
Wallace glanced covertly at the man, studying him. The cowboy boots and string tie added
to a neat dark business suit would have been affectation on most men. They merely accented
Custer's good looks - the sun-burned, windblown outdoorsman. He was a little darker of hair
and skin than his father had been, still light enough to be called blonde, but not as ruddy and
without the late father's drink-tumescent veins.
But then young Custer wasn't quite thirty.
Custer turned, met the attorney's eyes. He smiled.
 'Those were good patent attorneys you recommended, Al,' Custer said. He lifted his
briefcase to his lap, patted it. 'No mincing around or mealy-mouthed excuses. Already got this
thing on the way.' Again, he tapped the briefcase.
He brought that damn' light gadget here with him? Wallace wondered. Why? He glanced at
the briefcase. Didn't know it was that small ... but maybe he's just talking about the plans for