"George R. R. Martin - Manna From Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

goddamned government. We’re allowed to steal the things we want as long as we put a shiny legal gloss
over it.”
“Seldom in my voyaging have I encountered any political functionary as frank as yourself, it must be
admitted. The experience is refreshing. Still, as invigorated as I am, what assurance do I have that you
will not continue your efforts to seize the Ark once aboard?”
“Who, me?” said Tolly Mune. “Now how could I do a thing like that? Don’t worry, I’ll come alone.” She
smiled. “Well, almost alone. You’d have no objections if I brought a cat, would you?”
“Certainly not,” said Tuf. “I am pleased to learn that the felines I left in your custody have thrived in my
absence. I shall eagerly anticipate your arrival, Portmaster Mune.”
“That’s First Councillor Mune to you, Tuf,” she said, gruffly, before she wiped the screen.


No one had ever alleged that Haviland Tuf was overly rash; he took up a position twelve kilometers
beyond the end of one of the great docking spurs of the orbital community known as the Port of
S’uthlam, and he kept his shields up continuously as he waited. Tolly Mune rode out to meet him in the
small starship Tuf had given her five years before, on the occasion of his previous visit to S’uthlam.
Tuf opened the shields to let her through, and cracked the great dome on the landing deck so she might
set down. Ark’s instrumentation indicated her ship was full of lifeforms, only one of which was human;
the rest displayed feline parameters. Tuf set out to meet her, driving a three-wheeled cart with balloon
tires, and wearing a deep-green mock-velvet suit belted about his ample middle. On his head was a
battered green duckbilled cap decorated with the golden theta of the Ecological Engineering Corps. Dax
rode with him, an indolent sprawl of black fur draped across Tuf’s broad knees.
When the airlock opened, Tuf drove with all deliberate speed through the scrapyard of battered
spacecraft that he had somehow accumulated over the years, directly to where Tolly Mune, former
Portmaster of S’uthlam, was thumping down the ramp of her ship.
A cat walked at her side.
Dax was on his feet in an instant, his dark fur bristling as if his huge, furry tail had just been plugged into
an electric socket. His customary lethargy was suddenly gone; he leapt from Tuf’s lap to the hood of the
cart, drew back his ears, and hissed.
“Why, Dax,” Tolly Mune said, “is that any way to greet a goddamned relative?” She grinned, and knelt
to pet the huge animal by her side.
“I had expected either Ingratitude or Doubt,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Oh, they’re fine,” she said. “And so are all their goddamned offspring. Several generations’ worth. I
should have figured it when you gave me a pair. A fertile male and female. I’ve got...” she frowned, and
counted quickly on her fingers, once through and then again. “...let’s see, sixteen, I think. Yes. And two
pregnant.” She jerked a thumb at the starship behind her. “My ship has turned into one big cat-house.
Most of them don’t care any more for gravity than I do. Born and raised in zero gee. I’ll never
understand how they can be so graceful one moment and so hilariously clumsy the next.”
“The feline heritage is rife with contradiction,” said Tuf.
“This is Blackjack.” She picked him up in her arms and rose to her feet. “Damn, he’s heavy. You never
realize that in zero gee.”
Dax stared at the other feline, and hissed.
Blackjack, cradled against the chest of Tolly Mune’s old, smelly skinthins, looked down at the huge
black tom with disinterested haughtiness.
Haviland Tuf stood two-and-a-half meters tall, with bulk to match, and Dax was just as large, compared
to other cats, as Tuf was, compared to other men.
Blackjack was larger.
His hair was long and silky, smoky gray on top, with a lighter silver undercoat. His eyes were silver-gray
as well, vast deep pools, serene and somehow eerie. He was the most incredibly beautiful animal ever to
dwell in the expanding universe, and he knew it. His manner was that of a princeling born to the royal