"Norton, Andre - Solar Queen 02 - Plague Ship" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

now all turned in their direction, lacked readable expression. The eyes were large and set slightly aslant in
the skull, being startlingly orange-red or a brilliant turquoise green-blue. They wore loin cloths of brightly
dyed fabrics with wide sashes forming corselets about their slender middles, from which gleamed the gem-
set hilts of their claw knives, the possession of which proved their adulthood. Cloaks as flamboyant as their
other garments hung in bat wing folds from their shoulders and each and every one moved in an invisible
cloud of perfume.

Brilliant as the assemblage of liege men without had been, the gathering of clan leaders and their upper
officers within the council place was a riot of color--and odor. The chieftains were installed on the
wooden stools, each with a small table before him on which rested a goblet bearing his own clan sign, a
folded strip of patterned cloth--his "trade shield"--and a gemmed box containing the scented paste he
would use for refreshment during the ordeal of conference.

A breeze fluttered sash ends and tugged at cloaks, otherwise the assembly was motionless and awesomely
quiet. Still making no overtures Van Rycke crossed to a stool and table which stood a little apart and seated
himself. Dane went into the action required of him. Before his superior he set out a plastic pocket flask, its
color as alive in the sunlight as the crudely cut gems which the Salariki sported, a fine silk handkerchief,
and, last of all, a bottle of Terran smelling salts provided by Medic Tau as a necessary restorative after
some hours' combination of Salariki oratory and Salariki perfumes. Having thus done the duty of liege
man, Dane was at liberty to seat himself, cross-legged on the ground behind his chief, as the other sons,
heirs, and advisors had gathered behind their lords.

The chieftain whose arrival they had in a manner delayed came in after them and Dane saw that it was
Fashdor--another piece of luck--since that clan was a small one and the chieftain had little influence. Had
they so slowed Halfer or Paft it might be a different matter altogether.

Fashdor was established at his seat, his belongings spread out, and Dane, counting unobtrusively, was
certain that the council was now complete. Seven clans Traxt Cam had recorded divided the sea coast
territory and there were seven chieftains here--indicative of the importance of this meeting since some of
these clans, beyond the radius of the shield peace, must be fighting a vicious blood feud at that very
moment. Yes, seven were here. Yet there still remained a single stool, directly across the circle from Van
Rycke. An empty stool--who was the late comer?

That question was answered almost as it flashed into Dane's mind. But no Salariki lordling came through
the door. Dane's self-control kept him in his place, even after he caught the meaning of the insignia
emblazoned across the newcomer's tunic. Trader--and not only a Trader but a Company man! But why--
and how? The Companies only went after big game--this was a planet thrown open to Free Traders, the
independents of the star lanes. By law and right no Company man had any place here. Unless--behind a
face Dane strove to keep as impassive as Van's his thoughts raced. Traxt Cam as a Free Trader had bid for
the right to exploit Sargol when its sole exportable product was deemed to be perfume--a small,
unimportant trade as far as the Companies were concerned. And then the Koros stones had been found and
the importance of Sargol must have boomed as far as the big boys could see. They probably knew of Traxt
Cam's death as soon as the Patrol report on Limbo had been sent to Headquarters. The Companies all
maintained their private information and espionage services. And, with Traxt Cam dead without an heir,
they had seen their chance and moved in. Only, Dane's teeth set firmly, they didn't have the ghost of a
chance now. Legally there was only one Trader on Sargol and that was the Solar Queen, Captain Jellico
had his records signed by the Patrol to prove that. And all this Inter-Solar man could do now was to bow
out and try poaching elsewhere.

But the I-S man appeared to be in no haste to follow that only possible course. He was seating himself with