"Piper, H Beam - Fuzzy 1 - little Fuzzy1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

That would hurt Leonard. He identified himself with the Company. It
was something bigger and more powerful than he was, like God.

Victor Grego identified the Company with himself. It was
something big and powerful, like a vehicle, and he was at the
controls.

"Leonard, a little criticism won't hurt the Company," he said. "Not
where it matters, on the dividends. I'm afraid you're too sensitive to
criticism. Where did Emmert get this story anyhow? From your
people?"

"No, absolutely not, Victor. That's what worries him. It was this man
Rainsford who started it."

"Rainsford?"

"Dr. Bennett Rainsford, the naturalist. Institute of Xeno-Sciences. I
never trusted any of those people; they always poke their noses
into things, and the Institute always reports their findings to the
Colonial Office."

'I know who you mean now; little fellow with red whiskers, al ways
looks as though he'd been sleeping in his clothes. Why, of course
the Xeno-Sciences people poke their noses into things, and of
course they report their findings to the government." He was
beginning to lose patience. "I don't see what all this is about,
Leonard. This man Rainsford just made a routine observation of
meteorological effects. I suggest you have your meteorologists
cheek it, and if it's correct pass it on to the news services along
with your other scientific findings."

"Nick Emrnert thinks Rainsford is a Federation undercover agent."

That made him laugh. Of course there were undercover agents on
Zarathustra, hundreds of them. The Company had people here
checking on him; he knew and accepted that. So did the big
stockholders, like Interstellar Explorations and the Banking Cartel
and Terra-Baldur-Marduk Spacelines. Nick Emmert had his corps
of spies and stool pigeons, and the Terran Federation had people
here watching both him and Emmert. Rainsford could be a
Federation agent-a roving naturalist would have a wonderful cover
occupation. But this Big Blackwater business was so utterly silly.
Nick Emmert had too much graft on his conscience; it was too bad
that overloaded consciences couldn't blow fuses.

"Suppose he is, Leonard. What could he report on us? We are a
chartered company, and we have an excellent legal department,
which keeps us safely inside our charter. It is a very liberal charter,