"Gardner,.James.Alan.-.Expendable" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner James Alan)

bright-smiling proselytizers with God in their hearts were drawn to me like
beetles to carrion. They may have considered me desperate for acceptance of any
kind-an easy convert. Perhaps too, those eager believers thought that
associating with a pariah would purify their souls ... like flagellation.
Whatever the reason, I spent many mealtimes listening to guarantees of spiritual
fulfillment, if only I would come out to regular Fellowship meetings.
Different crew members chose to strike up conversations for the purpose of
seduction. After all, a woman like me had to be an easy sexual conquest;
desperate and lonely, I would roll over like a dog at the first sign of
attention.
And with the lights out, they wouldn't see my face, would they?
I took a number of those calculating seducers to my bed anyway, just for the
hell of it-I felt like I was tricking them, exploiting them. In time, however, I
wondered who was fooling whom. Ultimately, I decided that celibacy was simpler.
Some people cultivated my friendship in the belief I could help with their
careers-as Explorer First Class, I ranked second only to the captain and was
sometimes thought to be important. In fact, my rank was merely a ploy to hide
the reality of my situation. I would never get a position of command on a
starship; I knew nothing about ship operation. My only expertise lay in personal
survival.
Was I ever invited to eat with anyone who had no ulterior motive? I can't say.
Did I ever eat with someone who was interested in me ... not my soul, not my
body, not the things I might do for them, but for me? No. Never. Not one of them
knew me.
After a few months of trying to mingle with the regular crew, I switched to
eating alone in my quarters. Rank hath its privileges.


My Quarters


I spent much of the day in my quarters. I had little reason to go elsewhere. I
was comfortable there.
My cabin had no traditional decorations. When I was assigned to this ship, the
quartermaster offered me a number of standard wall-hangings "to brighten the
place up," but I refused. I also refused to take any of his glass figurines that
could be attached with magnets to any flat surface. Half the figurines were
abstracts that meant nothing to me; the other half were little better than
kittens, mice, and children with large eyes.
My quarters had a practical desk, a practical cartography table, three
relatively practical chairs, and a fairly impractical bed. It was a double-sized
bed with many active features, called The Luxuriator. I requisitioned it in a
moment of folly, thinking if I found the right man or woman, a good bed might
give me confidence.
Might make me feel prepared.
Might make me feel I had something to contribute.
No, I can't find the right words. It humiliates me to think about it.


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