"Rob Preece - Merchant prince of Arcadia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Preece Rob)

From the darkening shade of Trabert's face, Jake guessed he hadn't found the right answer. “You let my
rugs rot while you played the commodities boards—on my time. Get out."

The old man's command didn't make a lot of sense on an enclosed space freighter, but now didn't seem
to be the time to point that out. Jake stood, then reached for his computer.

Trabert slapped his hand away. “Leave that."

Jake barely resisted the ingrained reflex to block the slap and counter. From the look of the ship's guard
glaring at him from behind the captain, that was a quick way to get himself shot. “But it's mine."
"It's evidence.” Trabert shoved the computer into an insulating pouch cutting it off from the ship's
network.

Trabert was a bully and terrible captain but Jake had never seen him go this far. A small bubble of panic
accumulated in his stomach and climbed up his throat. “I've got to close out my positions, sir. You know
what the Commodity Police are like.” Appeal to the shared interest, he thought. Once he'd covered his
shorts, he would have enough to buy this bathtub of a space freighter and put Trabert out to permanent
pasture. Never mind the twenty million.

"You'll do what I tell you. And I'm telling you to get the hell off my ship. If the Commodity Police are
after you, I suggest hiding."

Jake's panic grew. “You can't dump me off on New Earth #47. It's a Class 5 restricted. That's totally
against regulations."

"Tell that to the Traders’ Board.” This time, Trabert's laugh sounded genuine.

There was no Traders’ Board on #47 and, scheduled and certified ships barely made it there every year
or so. If Trabert was serious, and despite his grin he appeared to be, Jake would be marooned. Of
course, being marooned on some god-forsaken planet might be the best place for him if he couldn't undo
his shorts in a hurry.

Jake gave Trabert his most engaging smile. “I'll admit I got distracted and fell short on my job this one
time. Over all, though, I've been getting superior evaluations. I'd really appreciate a second chance.” A
chance to jump ship somewhere civilized, that was.

"Shoot him."

"But—"

Blackness descended.
****
Jake Borenski felt like he'd swallowed a mule—a mule that insisted on continuing to kick from the inside
of his head.

He groaned, forced his eyes open despite the gluey mess keeping them closed, and looked around. Dirt
floor? Wooden walls? Stench of organics? Where was he?

An elbow smashed into the back of his head. “Oi yonna ti gornam."