"Andre Norton - Cat's Eye - uc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

Korwar. He also possessed a stubborn, almost fierce
independence, which had so far kept him either from
signing on as contract labor or from the temptation
offered by the Guild. Troy Horan was a loner; he did
not take orders well. And since his mother's death, he
had no close attachments in the Dipple. There were
few left there now who had come from Norden. The men
had volunteered as troopers, and, for some reason, their
families had been particularly susceptible to the Cough.

The door that was their gate to the day's future slid
7




back. Men stood away from the wall, got up. Mechani-
cally Troy made a brushing gesture down the length
of his thin torso, though nothing would restore a vestige

of trimness to his clothing.
Spacer's breeches, fifth-hand, clean enough but with

their sky blue now a neutral, dusty gray; spacer's
boots, a little wide for his narrow feet, the magnetic
insets clicking as he walked; an upper tunic that was
hardly more than a sleeveless jerkin, all in contrast to
the single piece of his old life that he wore pulled
tight about his flat middle. That wide belt of a Norden
rider was well oiled, every one of its silver studs
polished and free of tarnish. Those studs formed a
design that was Troy's only heritage. If he ever rode
the grass plains again, with tupan galloping ahead—
well, those tupan might bear that same pattern on their
cream-white hides. Lang Horan had been Range Master

and Brand Owner.
Because he was young, tough, and stubborn, Troy

was well to the fore of the line at the mechanical
assignor. He watched with alert jealousy as three men
ahead ran toward the stamper, assured of work—the
mark on their wrists giving them the freedom of the
city, if only for a day. Then he was facing that

featureless, impersonal mike himself.

"Horan, class two, Norden, lawful work—" The same
old formula he uttered there day after day. He stood,
his feet a little apart, balancing as if the machine