"Miller,.Steve.And.Lee,.Sharon.-.Liaden.Universe.03.-.Adventures.In.The.Liaden.Universe.v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Steve)

* * *

HE SET DOWN in the foothills above an amber valley where fields
and possible houses lined a placid river.

Grounded, he initiated the final pre-scan, whistling indifferently. His
instrument of choice was the omnichora. A portable—gift from his
fostermother on the recent occasion of his seventeenth Name
Day—was packed away with the rest of his gear.

It was remarkable the ’chora was there at all. Test tradition was that
a cadet carried no tech-gear during prelims, except for that
equipment found in a standard kit. However, those who had him
under their eyes understood that to deprive Val Con yos’Phelium
of the means of making his music for a period of six months,
Standard, would be an act of wanton inhumanity. It had been
debated hotly within the council of instructors, had he but known it.
He knew only the end—that the ’chora was aboard the test ship;
and that his immediate superior took care to comment that music
was communication, too.

Sighing, Val Con studied the results of the scan: air a bit light on
oxygen, but not enough to present problems. Microbes—nothing to
worry him there. Scout inoculations are thorough. Soil samples
showed levels of copper, iron; a shade too much sulfur. No harmful
radiations. In fact, it was going to be rather dim outside.

Hull temp read orange: too hot for exit.

He stretched in the pilot’s chair and released the web of shock
straps. Asking the rationboard for a cup of hot tea, he stood
sipping, trying to damp the surge of excitement that threatened,
now he was really here.

Wherever it was.

He grinned suddenly. What did it matter? It was a Scout’s task to
discover such things, after all! This was what he had been trained
for. More fool he, cramming for a world lightyears distant, when he
could have been—could have been sleeping.

Resisting the urge to tell the temperature display precisely what he
thought of its arbitrary limitations, he bent down, opened the crew
locker and brought out two bundles.

The first was his ’chora, wrapped in oiled yellow silk. His fingers
caressed it through the fabric as he set it aside.

The second bundle was wrapped in black leather and clanked