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

cally. Or morally. He sits in his suite with a case of brandy
and a box of cigars. The cook, who could be down here
helping you, is kept aboard the yacht to fix him his
damned gourmet meals. You'd think he didn't care if we're
blown out of the sky!"
He remembered his oath of fealty, his official position,
and so on and so on. They seemed nonsensical enough,
here on the edge of extinction. But habit was strong. He
swallowed and said harshly, "Sorry. Please ignore what
I said. When you're ready, Freeman Yamamura, we'll
test the gorilloids."

Six men and J eri stood by in the passage with drawn
blasters. Torrance hoped fervently they wouldn't have to
shoot. He hoped even more that, if they did have to, he'd
still be alive.
He gestured to the four crewmen at his back. "Okay,
boys." He wet his lips. His heart thuttered. Being a cap-
tain and a Lodgemaster was very fine until moments like
this came, when you must make a return for all your
special privileges.
He spun the outside control wheel. The air-lock motor
hummed and opened the doors. He stepped through, into
a cage of gorilloids.
Pressure differentials weren't enough to worry about, but
after all this time at one-fourth G, to enter a field only
ten percent less than Earth's was like a blow. He lurched,
almost fell, gasped in an air warm and thick and full of
unnamed stenches. Sagging back against the wall, he
stared across the floor at the four bipeds. Their brown
fleecy bodies loomed unfairly tall,--up and up to the COafse
faces. Eyes overshadowed by brows glared at him. He
clapped a hand on his stun pistol. He didn't want to shoot
it, either. No telling what supersonics might do to a nonhu-
man nervous system; and if these were in truth the
crewfolk, the worst thing he could do was inflict serious
injury on one of them. But he wasn't used to being small
and frail. The knurled handgrip was a comfort.
A male growled, deep in his chest, and advanced a step.
His pointed head thrust forward, the sphincters in his
neck opened and shut like sucking mouths; his jaws
gaped to show the white teeth.
Torrance backed toward a corner. "I'll try to attract
that one in the lead away from the others," he called
softly. "Then get him."
"Aye." A spacehand, a stocky slant-eyed nomad from
Altai, uncoiled a lariat. Behind him, the other three
spread a net woven for this purpose. -
The gorilloid paused. A female hooted. The male seemed
to draw resolution from her. He waved the others back