"Anderson, Poul - 1964 Nicholas Van Rijn 02 - Trader to the Stars 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

"May I speak privately with you? Urgent."
Nicholas van Rijn hoisted the two-liter tankard which
had been brought him. His several chins quivered under
the stiff goatee; the noise of his gulping filled the room,
from the desk littered with papers to the Huy Brasealian
jewel-tapestry hung on the opposite bulkhead. Something
by Mozart lilted out of a taper. Blond, big-eyed, and thor-
oughly three-dimensional, Jeri Kofoed curled on a couch,
within easy reach of him where he sprawled in his lounger.
Torrance, who was married but had been away from home
for some time, forced his gaze back to the merchant.
"Ahhh!" Van Rijn banged the empty mug down on a
table and wiped foam from his mustaches. "Pox and
pestilence, but the firSt beer of the day is good! Something
with it is so quite cool and-urn-by damn, what word do
I want?" He thumped his sloping forehead with one
hairy fist. "I get more absent in the mind every week. Ah,
Torrance, when you are too a poor old lonely fat man
with all powers failing him, you will look back and re-
member me and wish you was more good to me. But then
is too late." He sighed like a minor tornado and scratched
the pelt on his chest. In the near tropic temperature at
which he insisted on maintaining his quarters, he need
wrap only a sarong about his huge body. "Well, what be-
gobbled stupiding is it I must be dragged from my-all-
too-much work to fix up for you, ha?
His tone was genial. He had, in fact, been in a good
mood ever since they escaped the Adderkops. Who
wouldn't be? For a mere space yacht, even an armed one
with ultrapowered engines, to get away from three cruis-
ers, was more than an accomplishment; it was very nearly
a miracle. Van Rijn still kept four grateful candles burn-
ing before his Martian sandroot statuette of St. Dismas.
True, he sometimes threw crockery at the steward when
a drink arrived later than he wished, and he fired every-
body aboard ship at least once a day. But that was normal.
Jeri Kofoed arched her brows. "Your first beer, Nicky?
she mnrmured. "Now really! Two hours ago.
Ja, but that was before midnight time. If not Green-
wich midnight, then surely on some planet somewhere,
me? So is a new day." Van Rijn took his churchwarden
off the table and began stuffing it. "Well, sit down, Cap-
tain Torrance, make yourself to be comfortable and
lend me your lighter. You look like a dynamited custard,
boy. All you youngsters got no stamina. When I was a
Workingg spaceman, by Judas, we made solve all our own
problems. These days, death and damnation, you come
ask me how to wipe your noses! Nobody has any guts but
me." He slapped his barrel belly. "So what is be-jingle-
bang gone wrong now?