"Janet Kagan - The Nutcracker Coup" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kagan Janet)

head at her and added, with a rattle of quills, “I’m not sure where Halemtat would clip a human, or even
if you’d feel shamed by a clipping, but I wouldn’t like to be responsible for finding out.”
Marianne couldn’t help but grin. She ran a hand through her pale white hair. “I’ve had my head
shaved-that was long ago and far away-and it was intended to shame me.”
“Intended to?”
“I painted my naked scalp bright red and went about my business as usual. I set something of a
new fashion and, in the end, it was the shaver who was-quite properly-shamed.”
Tatep’s eyelids once again shaded his eyes. “I must think about that,” he said, at last. “We have
enough branches for a proper gift now, Marianne. Shall we consider the question of your Christmas
tree?”
“Yes,” she said. She rose to her feet and gathered up the branches. “And another thing as
well.... I’ll need some more wood for carving. I’d like to carve some gifts for my friends, as well.
That’s another tradition of Christmas.”
“Carving gifts? Marianne, you make Christmas sound as if it were a Rejoicing holiday!”
Marianne laughed. “It is, Tatep. I’ll gladly share my Christmas with you.”
###
Clarence Doggett was Super Plenipotentiary Representing Terra to Rejoicing and today he was
dressed to live up to his extravagant title in striped silver tights and a purple silk weskit. No less than four
hoops of office jangled from his belt. Marianne had, since meeting him, conceived the theory that the
more stylishly outré his dress the more likely he was to say yes to the request of a subordinate. Scratch
that theory....
Clarence Doggett straightened his weskit with a tug and said, “We have no reason to write a
letter of protest about Emperor Halemtat’s treatment of Chornian. He’s deprived us of a valuable
worker, true, but....”
“Whatever happened to human rights?”
“They’re not human, Marianne. They’re aliens.”
At least he hadn’t called them “Pincushions” as he usually did, Marianne thought. Clarence
Doggett was the unfortunate result of what the media had dubbed “the Grand Opening.” One day
humans had been alone in the galaxy, and the next they’d found themsleves only a tiny fraction of the
intelligent species. Setting up five hundred embassies in the space of a few years had strained the
diplomatic service to the bursting point. Rejoicing, considered a backwater world, got the scrapings
from the bottom of the barrel. Marianne was trying very hard not to be one of those scrapings, despite
the example set by Clarence. She clamped her jaw shut very hard.
Clarence brushed at his fashionably large mustache and added, “It’s not as if they’ll really die of
shame, after all.”
“Sir,” Marianne began.
He raised his hands. “The subject is closed. How are the plans coming for the Christmas bash?”
“Fine, sir,” she said without enthusiasm. “Killim-she’s the local glassblower-would like to
arrange a trade for some dyes, by the way. Not just for the Christmas tree ornaments, I gather, but for
some project of her own. I’m sending letters with Nick Minski to a number of glassblowers back home
to find out what sort of dye is wanted.”
“Good work. Any trade item that helps tie the Rejoicers into the galactic economy is a find.
You’re to be commended.”
Marianne wasn’t feeling very commended, but she said, “Thank you, sir.”
“And keep up the good work-this Christmas idea of yours is turning out to be a big morale
booster.”
That was the dismissal. Marianne excused herself and, feet dragging, she headed back to her
office. “‘They’re not human,’“ she muttered to herself. “‘They’re aliens. It’s not as if they’ll really die of
shame....’“ She slammed her door closed behind her and snarled aloud, “But Chornian can’t keep up
work and the kids can’t play with their friends and his mate Chaylam can’t go to the market. What if