Книга только для ознакомления
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"We'll have a drink to celebrate closing the deal," said the stranger, smiling and holding on to the bottle. "Not before." He walked back to his seat by the computer.
Bosk was going to get angry and then decided he wasn't. Shrugging, he went back to his chair. The stranger returned to the folding chair, set the bottle down next to the computer, beside the picture of Snaga Ohme. On his way past, the stranger flicked off the vid. Congenial reporter James M. Warden and His Majesty the King dwindled to insignificant dots, then were gone.
A commentary on life, Bosk thought, staring at the empty screen with watery eyes.
"Where should I begin?"
"The space-rotation bomb," specified the stranger.
Bosk glared, suspicions returned. "You must be from the king. No one else knew about that."
"I'm not from the king, Bosk," the stranger said patiently. "Maybe someday I'll tell you where I am from. But for now, I'd say you're being paid enough not to be curious. Let me help things along. We know about the space-rotation bomb. We know how Warlord Sagan came up with the design for it. How he needed someone to build it. Needed it done quick and quiet, because he was planning to overthrow the galactic government. And so he went to Snaga Ohme."
"The only man in the universe who could have built that damn bomb," Bosk said with moist-eyed pride. He sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand
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