"Tom Kratman - A Desert Called Peace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kratman Tom)

The tranzitrees had no real use but aesthetics. The bluegums, on the other hand, were cultivated
locally for their edible nuts, high grade lumber for cabinetry and furniture, and the refinable resin – a
rubber-like compound – which gave them their name. All were blue, as were the trees' leaves. The leaves
were used to make a rather good dye.
***
Of course, there's no law in this place. It's all who you are related to, who you know, who are
your friends, what bribes can you pay, and how much clout do you have. A well-connected man
can get away with murder – some of my in-laws have – manslaughter, anyway.
Want to set up a new business? "Well, my brother-in-law is at the planning commission. I am
sure he could help you if you made it worth his while." Need to buy a chunk of land? "My cousin,
the procurator, could probably help but he doesn't come cheap." That's all fine for me; I'm
connected through Linda's clan. But what about the average Joses? They're screwed, unless, that
is, they know somebody.
Add a little law, a little integrity, to the government and this place could be perfection.
The maid, Lucinda, found him under the bohio, lost in thought.
"Señor?"
"Yes, Lucinda?" he asked.
The woman was older, from a poor family, and never terribly pretty. Nonetheless, her family had
been in service to Linda's for generations. This explained why she had taken a job even at the wretched
salary earned by a domestic in the undeveloped and unindustrialized parts of Terra Nova. Hennessey
tried to treat her kindly and, had she been asked, the maid likely would have voiced no ground of
complaint.
 "Señor, there are two men here to see you. One is from the Fuerza Civil; a Major Jimenez. The
other is General Parilla. You know, sir, the old dictator?"
"Xavier? Here? Great! And Parilla? Wonderful, Lucinda." Hennessey rousted himself from his chair
and walked briskly to greet his old friends and former enemy.
He reentered by the back office door, then walked briskly across the cobble-stoned way that led
through the courtyard. In the open courtyard Hennessey stopped briefly to study the clouds gathering
overhead. To himself he muttered, "Storm again, from the west, it seems. Oh, well, I've always liked the
rain."
The door leading from the courtyard to the foyer was open, befittingly so in country so warm.
Hennessey passed through it without pause and saw two men, rising politely from the overstuffed chairs
in the iridescent bluegum-paneled foyer.
Rank had its privileges. He thrust out a welcoming hand first to retired (forcibly retired) General
Raul Parilla; short, dark, gone a little fat now with his years of service behind him. Most of the general's
still abundant hair had gone to gray.
The general returned the clasp warmly. "Patricio, it is good to see you again after all these years."
"Sir . . . you too, sir." Hennessey meant it. Cut off, as he was, from his old army, he valued the
contact even with a foreign one. Though it would be pushing things, really, to call Balboa's Civil Force an
army.
Smile broadening at his other guest, Hennessey greeted a friend of much longer standing and even
deeper feeling. Indeed, so close were he and Xavier Jimenez that neither of them much minded that they
had once fought each other nearly to the death . . . and had fought to the deaths of many of their
followers.
Where Parilla had grown a bit rotund with the years, Jimenez remained whippet thin, a lean, black
hunter and racer.
No words passed between Jimenez and Hennessey. With friends so close, none were needed.
"Lucinda," Hennessey called. "Please bring a bucket with ice, a bottle of rum, some coke and some
scotch to my library. And three glasses, as well, please. Gentlemen?"
With that, Hennessey led the way back across the courtyard. Parilla and Jimenez stopped to admire