"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

use auto. If you can, lie low for a few months, they may sort this out. Still care about you." It was
unsigned. She cried while driving and tried to think of a solution.

Her mind was whirling too hard for thought, but she knew she'd need cash before they locked her work
and insurance number. Stopping at a rest area, she picked a remote parking slot and changed, hunched in
the front seat. Wearing her uniform off base would not only be distinctive, it was also an invitation to be
mugged and raped, especially for women. Once done, she pulled back onto the highway and found a
suburban exit. She pulled into a plaza and used a bank terminal, then found another one a few blocks
away. Six different transactions yielded every penny she had in the world, in small enough chunks that no
single one would show up at UNRS immediately. As she made the last withdrawal, an idea occurred to
her. It was insane, but there was no logical reason why it was impossible. The odds were such that no
bookie would take the bet, but better than nothing, which was what she had now.

The Grainne colony had been independent for ten years now and had not only refused to join the UN,
but had refused to go along with most of the common standards of ship registry, public health, public
standards or even reciprocity of laws.That was the crucial bit. If she could make it there, they wouldn't
extradite her. It was quite the rogue as nations went. It also reportedly had an excellent standard of living.
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As with many frontier worlds, there were not enough people for all jobs. A frontier colony was not the
nicest environment for an urbanite like herself, but it would be safe until this resolved.

She gave one last searching thought to whether or not she should do it. The millions of marks at stake
made her believe that scapegoats, bribes and various irregularities would be the end result of this. She
was sophisticated enough to realize that being innocent would not protect her and being poor and of low
rank would make her a doormat. This was a chance to wait things out. She reached for her phone,
hesitated, then sought a public phone and looked up the address.
***

In a suburb south of where Kendra had made her decision was the embassy of the Freehold of Grainne.
It was an old twenty-third-century windowless block, surrounded by a wall and other, less blatant,
security measures. In a spacious office on the top floor, an old discussion was being rehashed yet again.

Assistant for Policy Gunter Marx entered the office and informed Citizen Ambassador Janine Maartens
of the Freehold of Grainne, "The UN is protesting our declaration of withdrawal again."

"Any new language?" was the bored return. Maartens' desk defied the advantages of electronic data. It
was strewn with notes, official copies of documents, flash ram, memory cubes and assorted other items in
archeological layers by age in a display that clashed with the spare blond paneling and carpet.

Marx said, "No. All the same as last year. John Abraham requests a meeting with you to discuss the
perceived inequalities. He is sure we can find an agreeable solution."

"One that involves taxes, government interference, restrictions of our personal rights 'for the public
good,' and a seven-year plan for the future, of course. Tell him I'm dead."

"Ma'am?"