"Lester Del Rey - Nerves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Del Rey Lester)

NERVES

by

LESTER DEL REY



CHAPTER 1

The jangling of the telephone gnawed at Doc Ferrel's sleep. His efforts to cut
it off by burying his head deeper in the pillow only made him more aware of
it. Across the room, he heard Emma stirring uneasily. He could just make out
her body under the sheets by the dim light of the early morning.
Nobody had any business calling at that hour!
Resentment cut through the last mists of sleep. He groped to his feet and
fumbled for his robe. When a man nears sixty, with gray hair and enlarged
waistline to show for it, he should be entitled to his sleep. But the phone
went on insistently. Then, as he reached the head of the stairs, he began to
fear that it would stop. Reaching it just too late would be the final
aggravation.
He half-stumbled down the stairs until he could reach the receiver. "Ferrel
speaking."
Relief and fatigue were mixed in the voice at the other end. "This is Palmer,
Doc. Did I wake you up?"
"I was just sitting down to supper," Ferrel told him bitterly. Palmer was the
manager of the atomics plant where Doc worked, and at least nominally his
boss. "What's the matter? Your grandson got a stomach-ache, or has the plant
finally blown up? And what's it to me at this hour? Anyhow, I thought you said
I could forget about the plant today."
Palmer sighed faintly, as if he'd expected Doc's reaction and had been bracing
himself for it. "I know. That's what I called about. Of course, if you've made
plans you can't break, I can't ask you to change them. God knows, you've
earned a day off. But. . . ."
He left it hanging. Ferrel knew it was bait. If he showed any interest now, he
was hooked. He waited, and finally Palmer sighed again.
"Okay, Doc. I guess I had no business bothering you. It's just that I don't
trust Dr. Blake's tact. But maybe I can convince him that smart cracks don't
go over well with a junket of visiting congressmen. Go back to sleep. Sorry I
woke you up."
"Wait a minute," Ferrel said quickly. He shook his head, wishing he'd had at
least a swallow of coffee to clear his brain. "I thought the investigating
committee was due next week?"
Palmer, like a good angler, gave him a second's grace before he set the hook.
"They were, but I got word the plans are changed. They'll be here, complete
with experts and reporters, some time this forenoon. And with that bill up
before Congress . . . Well, have a good day, Doc."
Ferrel swore to himself. All he had to do now was to hang up, of course.
Handling the committee was Palmer's responsibility; it was his plant that
would be moved to some wasteland if the cursed bill was passed. Doc's job was