"Eric Frank Russell - And Then There Were None" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

relatives or acquaintances of the first-comers, people persuaded to follow the bold example
of Uncle Eddie or Good Old Joe.
If they had since doubled themselves six or seven times over, there now ought to be
several millions of them. That they had increased far beyond their original strength had been



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evident during the approach, for while no great cities were visible there were many medium
to smallish towns and a large number of villages.
His Excellency looked with approval at the turf under his feet, plucked a blade of it,
grunting as he stooped. He was so constructed that this effort approximated to an athletic
feat and gave him a crick in the belly.

“Earth-type grass. Notice that, captain? Is it just a coincidence, or did they bring seed
with them?”
“Coincidence, probably,” said Captain Grayder. “I’ve come across four grassy worlds so
far. No reason why there shouldn’t be others.”
“No, I suppose not.” His Excellency gazed into the distance, doing it with pride of
ownership. “Looks like there’s someone plowing over there. He’s using a little engine
between a pair of fat wheels. They can’t be so backward. Hm-m-m!” He rubbed a couple of
chins. “Bring him here. We’ll have a talk, find out where it’s best to get started.”
“Very well.” Captain Grayder turned to Colonel Shelton, boss of the troops. “His
Excellency wishes to speak to that farmer.” He pointed to the faraway figure.
“The farmer,” said Shelton to Major Hame. “His Excellency wants him at once.”
“Bring that farmer here,” Hame ordered Lieutenant Deacon. “Quickly!”
“Go get that farmer,” Deacon told Sergeant Major Bidworthy. “And hurry—His Excellency
is waiting!”
The sergeant major, a big, purple-faced man, sought around for a lesser rank,
remembered that they were all cleaning ship and not smoking. He, it seemed, was elected.
Tramping across four fields and coming within haffing distance’ of his objective, he
performed a precise military halt and released a barracks-square bellow of, “Hi, you!” He
waved urgently.
The farmer stopped, wiped his forehead, looked around. His manner suggested that the
mountainous bulk of the battleship was a mirage such as are five a penny around these
parts. Bidworthy waved again, making it an authoritative summons. The farmer calmly
waved back, got on with his plowing.
Sergeant Major Bidworthy employed an expletive which—when its flames had died out—
meant, “Dear me!” and marched fifty paces nearer. He could now see that the other was
bushy-browed and leather-faced.
“Hi!”
Stopping the plow again, the farmer leaned on a shaft, picked his teeth.
Struck by the notion that perhaps during the last three centuries the old Earth-language
had been dropped in favor of some other lingo, Bidworthy asked, “Can you understand me?”

“Can any person understand another?” inquired the farmer, with clear diction. He turned
to resume his task.
Bidworthy was afflicted with a moment of confusion. Recovering, he informed hurriedly,
“His Excellency, the Earth Ambassador, wishes to speak with you at once.”
“So?” The other eyed him speculatively. “How come that he is excellent?”