Книга только для ознакомления
.O. was entitled to talk with him. At the time It seemed reasonable; it was not until later that the Colonel wondered.
Thorby read the translated dispatch and nodded. "Anything you want. Skipper. I'm sure Pop would agree."
"Okay. You know what he was doing?"
"Well . . . yes and no. I saw some of it. I know what sort of things he was interested in having me notice and remember. I used to carry messages for him and it was always very secret But I never knew why." Thorby frowned. "They said he was a spy."
"Intelligence agent sounds better."
Thorby shrugged. "If he was spying, he'd call it that. Pop never minced words."
"No, he never minced words," Brisby agreed, wincing as he recalled being scorched right through his uniform by a dressing-down. "Let me explain. Mmm . . . know any Terran history?"
"Uh, not much."
"It's a miniature history of the race. Long before space travel, when we hadn't even filled up Terra, there used to be dirtside frontiers. Every time new territory was found, you always got three phenomena: traders ranging out ahead and taking their chances, outlaws preying on the honest men -- and a traffic in slaves. It happens the same way today, when we're pushing through space instead of across oceans and prairies. Frontier traders are adventurers taking great risks for great profits. Outlaws, whether hill bands or sea pirates or the raiders in space, crop up in any area not under police protection
|
