"Campbell, John W Jr - The Double_Minds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Campbell John W Jr)

THE DOUBLE MINDS
I
PRISONERS ON GANYMEDE
"P'HOLKUUN'S coming back," Ted Penton sighed. "Maybe he meant it."
Rod Blake stirred restlessly on the bunk.
"Will you make your news reports more explicit? You have your mug against the only clear spot on the damn glass door. Which one of those animated beanpoles is P'hol-kuun?"
"How can I describe him? He's a Ganymedian jailer, to you. They all look alike. Since we are the first human beings ever to see Ganymedians-or Ganymede itself-there aren't any words in the language to describe him. He is seven feet three inches tall, weighs about one hundred and fifty-or he would on Earth. He has that attractive green hair they all have, and he is wearing a Shaloor guard's uniform. He is shooing away our other guard."
"I guess he is as good an orator as you were," Blake grunted. "In five minutes you learned their language, found his political opinions, and had him sold on you to start a revolution. Man, you are political dynamite!"
"Political atomic power," Penton replied sourly. "I got us kicked out of Earth first for experimenting with the stuff. Kick number one; we get in the soup on Mars. Head for home, and all Earth turns out a great welcome for us- twenty-one gun salutes. Only they forgot to take out the sixteen-inch shells. They still don't want us. It was easier here. Fholkuun's a member of the rebel party, and the mind-reading stunt I learned from the Martians helped me make friends with him,"
"Penton," suddenly whispered the thin, squeaky voice of the friendly jailer outside, "the Shaloor have investigated your spaceship again. They are afraid."
"They are wise," replied Penton grimly. "If they disturb the atomic balances I have established in the engines, they'll blow this whole satellite clear out of Jupiter's system. They haven't a glimmering of an idea what forces I use."
"They don't believe you. They say you are a liar." The jailer, a Lanoor, sounded doubtful himself.
"They wanted me to take them in it out into space," went on Penton. "If they know more about my machine than I do, why don't they build one like it, and go out in then-Own machine? You don't even have the words atomic power and electricity in your language." P'holkuun shook his head slowly.
"You do not understand. Ten years ago, the first Shaloor was made. He was a Lanoor, but he invented an operation, and tried it on a friend, then the friend did it to him. The brain is divided into two halves, only one of which ever works in thinking. If, however, a man is injured so the half he is using is destroyed, then the other half works. The Shaloor found out how to make both halves work at once. The brain is made up of thousands and thousands of individual cells, each one helping to think. When the Shaloor doubled the number of thinking cells that work, he be-
came, not twice as brilliant, but over ten thousand times as keen-minded. With two factors, A and B, you can make only two combinations: AB and BA. With twice as many factors, you can make far more than twice as many combinations.
"In ten short years the Shaloor overthrew our rulers, developed a new civilization. They invented the shleath, and a thousand new vegetables and new animal foods. They will be able to learn your secret shortly. Some day our rebellion may succeed."
"The Shaloor are not omniscient. You are needlessly afraid of them." Penton snapped.
The Lanoor's big, broad face split in a slow grin.
"You are in jail, Urd-mahn, thanks to the Shaloor."
"They trapped us by treachery-"
"The Shaloor are always treacherous. It is intelligent they say."
"They will find it most unintelligent when my people come ten months from now with ships that can wipe out this city in a moment's time. We will so disturb the Shaloor that your waiting rebellion can succeed." Their jailer did not know that they had been exiled from Earth.
"Their gas-their gas always stops us. And the shleath. No man can face that-" The guard's ruddy face went pale at the thought, and Penton cursed silently that his very fear made his mind unreadable, even to the ancient method the Martians had learned and recorded ten thousand years ago in the ancient museums he had recently plundered. He could only catch vague, formless jellies wavering in a cloudiness of fear as the mental image.
"We have an older knowledge," Penton said shortly. "But do as you will. We will be out in a day's time, if the Shaloor have not first released the frightful energies of our ship in their blunderings."
"I-I will talk with my comrades tonight," P'holkuun said, and moved down the corridor uneasily. Penton turned away from the little window in the frosted glass of the door. Though his Earth-bred strength was five times that of a Ganymedian, it was still far less than was needed to break
down the thick, tough glass. Penton looked at it disgustedly.
"Damn," he complained mournfully.
"I take it he said, 'No.' " Blake looked morosely at the door. "Nice birds they have here. You greet 'em friendly, they wave and grin, and beckon from airplanes while you come down out of space. You step out-and plunko-they trap you with glass bombs of sleep-gas. Ah, well-I can't sleep, I can't smoke, and I can't move. I-"
"Oh, shut up. Here, I'll make you sleep. Hypnotism."
"Can you? Say-that's right, you learned a lot of dope from those Martian records. Go ahead." Blake lay back thankfully. Ten seconds later he realized his error. He was helplessly hypnotized, and already he recognized the flood of strange thoughts pouring into his mind, other-worldly ideas. Penton was giving him knowledge of the Lanoorian language by the technique the Martians had developed ten thousand years ago: hypnotic teaching.
Blake was about to acquire a complete understanding of Lanoor, in about five minutes. Also, all the headaches that he would normally have had learning a language would be equally concentrated into one great-granddaddy of all headaches. He struggled to free his will-The sun was shining in through the whole rear wall of the cell, which meant that it was day again, and he had slept for hours.
"No," said Penton's voice. But it was Lanoor he was speaking, and Blake moved his head gingerly and groaned audibly. Yes, the headache was there.
"No, I'll have to make the medicine myself. Tell them Blake is dying, that the air does not suit him. Hear him moan? Tell the Shaloor that I must have that stuf."
Blake saw a shadow, distorted by the uneven glass of the prison wall, move off. Penton turned toward him.
"Excellent, Rod, excellent. Nothing could have been better timed. I didn't know you were awake; and your help was really welcome."
"Help? Help, you cosmic blightl My head."
"I know. But we needed the stuff. Now he'll get it for us. You know their language now-we'll get the stuff I want." "I've got a headache. Go away and shut up. Oh-h-h."
He dozed, for when he opened his eyes again, his head pained less, and Penton was hard at work with some glass flasks, pungently odorous liquids, and various powders.
"Will you groan?" asked Penton pleasantly. "The guard is watching and listening."
Blake obliged. "Oh-h-h-what in double blazes-ah-h-h-h -are you stewing? It smells like fury!"
"I'm too busy trying to figure out something. Keep groaning, by the way. This is medicine for you. You're suffering because the atmosphere doesn't suit you. I can stand it, because I've had a dose of this atmospheric-cosmic-telluric acclimatizer."
"Groan? Great God, if it's anything you cooked up, I'm going to recover right here and now. You're no medicine man!"
"I am now. The stuff is now prepared. Hm-m-m-" he passed it under his nose. A mixture of pleasant, fruity smells, and peculiarly rank, acrid odors pervaded the room. From a bottle he measured out a number of gritty crystals, then from a second bottle of green glass, a few more. He sniffed the results, tasted it.
"Try a bit." He grinned at last, and passed it over. "Guaranteed to make you lick tigers like lollypops."
Blake took it at arm's length, and sniffed. His eyes widened. He tasted it. His mouth widened in a grin.
"What stuff! Happy days will come again." A considerable portion of the potent brew went down. Blake relinquished it only under protest. "All right, but explain the ingredients."
Penton helped himself to a bit, and nodded.
"Citric acid-crystallized acid of lemon. Sucrose-commonly sold under the name of sugar. Ethanol-otherwise ethyl alcohol. Carbonic acid-in no way related to the one with an T in it-better liked as soda water. I thought the
combine might strike you where you needed it, and anyway, I needed the rest of the brew."
Penton looked at, but did not handle, a large flask in which a watery liquid was stirring slowly about a white powder. Fully a gallon of the stuff was there already, and he cautiously added more from a large beaker, and more powder from a glass bottle. "And that?" asked Blake.