"Alexei Panshin - Sons of Prometheus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Panshin Alexei)

hair, and an unhealthy look in the lamp's glow.
 "Rilke?" Tansman said, starting forward, his wagon-befuddled bones somewhat unsteady.
"Tansman."
They shook hands and Rilke said, "Come on inside. I imagine you're hungry."
A curtain separated the living quarters from the store in front. Tansman got a glimpse of silhouetted
things hanging from the ceiling as he passed. While he was putting his bag in the spare, dimly-lit room
upstairs, he could hear Rilke busying himself in the kitchen. He came down the stairs, passed through the
sitting room and into the kitchen. Then he sat at the table and observed Rilke as he stirred a hanging
kettle over the open fire.
Rilke said, "I don't suppose you know how to cook. Garth will come in and do for you while Pm
gone." His tone was short, and he didn't look at Tansman.
Tansman saw now why Rilke was supposed to be his uncle, rather than a relative of the same
generation. He looked both tired and sick. His hair was sparse and seemed to have only a tenuous
connection with his head. His color was bad and his skin papery. His fourteen years here seemed to have
taken a considerable price from him. No one, either from the Ship or from Zebulon, would have thought
Rilke and Tansman to be of the same age.
Tansman said, "What is a Questryman?"
Rilke swung around, serving spoon in hand. "What's this?"
"Apparently we gave one a ride most of the way here. I gather they are something other than
common friars."
"Yes," Rilke said, turning back. "They're the bright ones, who keep the rest of them in order and the
people orthodox. You shouldn't have to worry. All of our books have been checked by them and given
an overmark and the rest of
I the stock is completely innocuous. Any questions you have about the store, Garth will answer." "If
things are so innocent and ' Garth can handle everything, why am I here?"
"I'll show you the things that aren't innocent. They're locked away upstairs. Your real business is just
to see that they stay locked and hidden. That's all. Here." He handed Tansman a plate of unappetizing
stew and poured two cups of hot dark beverage.
Tansman lifted his fork and gingerly tested his stew. Then carefully he took the smallest bit onto his
fork. Just as carefully, he took the bite and found it not as bad as he feared, though not so good as he
might have wished.
He swallowed and said, "They were burning bodies in the town square in North Hill."
"The megrim, I suppose?"
"Yes."
Rilke thoughtfully sipped his drink. Tansman tried his and found it bitter and undrinkable. He hastily
put it down and took another bite of stew.
"I hadn't counted on that. Well, if they're burning bodies in North Hill, you can expect they'll be
burning them here within two weeks. You needn't worry. You're safe. All you have to do is sit it out until
I get back."
Rilke fell silent again. After five minutes, Tansman, nearly done with his stew, said, "You know, I'm
not one of your Group."
"I know," Rilke said, the constant slightly hostile note in his voice evident.
"All I'm doing is sitting in your chair for a month. I have no stake in what you do. It seems to me,
though, that it might be a little more to the point if you made an effort to cure or prevent the megrim
instead of sitting safe through epidemics with whatever it is that you do."
"I'll bet you don't know anything about art, but you know what you like," Rilke said.
"What?"
"Never mind. If we tried curing the megrim, we'd have the Questrymen down on us in no time. We
have to be careful. Garth has worked for me for thirteen years, but if he thought I was from a Ship for
even a moment, he'd be off to the monastery as fast as he could run, scared to death and looking for