"Eric Frank Russell - Basic Right" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

"More or less," repeated Fox, looking bored.
"Finally, we arrived," continued Zalumar. "Our way of life is that of ruthless conquest. That must have
put you in a mental and moral dilemma. All the same, you recognized our right even at great cost to
yourselves."
"We didn't have much choice about it, considering the alternative," Fox pointed out. "Besides, the
cost isn't killing us. We have been keeping a few hundred Raidans in luxury. There are three thousand
millions of us. The expense works out at approximately two cents per head per annum."
Zalumar's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "That's one way of looking at it."
"For which price," added Fox, "the planet remains intact and we get protection."
"I see. So you regard the situation as mutually beneficial. We've got what we want and so have you."
He yawned to show the interview was over. "Well, it takes all sorts to make a cosmos."
But he did not continue to yawn after Fox had gone. He sat and stared unseeingly at the ornamental
drapes covering the distant door, narrowing his eyes occasionally and striving within his mind to locate an
invisible Terran tomahawk that might or might not exist.
He had no real reason to suppose that a very sharp hatchet lay buried some place, waiting to be dug
up. There was nothing to go on save a subtle instinct that stirred within him from time to time.
Plus unpleasant tinglings in the scalp.
Another three and a half years, making six in all. Suddenly the hatchet was exhumed.
Zalumar's first warning of the beginning of the end came in the form of a prolonged roar that started
somewhere cast of the palace and died away as a shrill whine high in the sky. He was abed and in deep
sleep when it commenced. The noise jerked him awake, he sat up, unsure whether he had dreamed it.
For a short time he remained gazing toward the bedroom's big windows and seeing only the
star-spangled sky in between small patches of cloud. Outside there was now complete silence, as though
a slumbering world had been shocked by this frantic bellowing in the night.
Then came a brilliant pink flash that lit up the undersides of the clouds. Another, another, and
another. Seconds later came a series of dull booms. The palace quivered, its windows rattled.
Scrambling out of bed he went to the windows, looked out, listened. Still he could see nothing, but
clearly through the dark came many metallic hammerings and the shouts of distant voices.
Bolting across the room he snatched up his bedside phone, rattled it impatiently while his eyes
examined a nearby list of those on duty tonight. Ah, yes, Arnikoj was commander of the palace guard.
He gave the phone another shake, cursed under-breath until a voice answered.
"Amikoj, what's going on? What's happening?"
"I don't know, sire. There seems to be some sort of trouble at the spaceport."
"Find out what's the matter. You have got a line to the port, haven't you?"
"It is dead, sire. We cannot get a reply. I think it has been cut."
"Cut?" He fumed a bit. "Nonsense, man! It may be accidentally broken. Nobody would dare to cut
it."
"Cut or broken," said Arnikoj, "it is out of action."
"You have radio communication as well. Call them at once on your transmitter. Have you lost your
wits, Arnikoj?"
"We have tried, sire, and are still trying. There is no response."
"Rush an armed patrol there immediately. Send a portable transmitter with them. I must have
accurate information without delay."
Dropping the phone, he threw on his clothes as swiftly as possible. A dozen voices yelled in the
garden not a hundred yards from his windows. Something let go with a violent hammering. He made a
jump for the door but the phone shrilled and called him back.
He grabbed it. "Yes?"
Arnikoj screamed at him, "It is too late, sire. They are already—" A loud br-r-op-op interrupted him,
his voice changed to a horrid gurgling that receded and slowly ceased.
Zalumar raced out the room and along the outer passage. His mind seemed to be darting forty ways