"Charles L. Harness-Stalemate in Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

beneath the desk and switched off the recorder.
"Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector?" she asked tersely. This must be done swiftly
before the guards returned.
"Perat, Viscount of Tharn," replied the man mechanically.
"What is the extent of his jurisdiction?"
"From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred miles radius."
"Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs for passage to the offices of the
Occupational Commandant."
The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped a seal at its bottom.
"You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments,' the following: 'Capable clerk. Others will follow
as they are found available.' "
The man's pen scratched away obediently.
Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor. She took the paper, folded it,
and placed it in a pocket in her blouse. "Call the guards," she ordered.
He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.
"This person is no longer a prisoner," said the inquisitor woodenly. "She is to take the next transport to
the Occupational Commandant of Zone One."
When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had any memory of the woman. However, in
the due course of events, the recording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully, and
sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, for auditing.
***


Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descended from the transport. The
Occupational Commandant would undoubtedly be high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion
to suspect a similar ability in a mere clerk.
Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildings were still smoking, and many of
the radions high above were either shot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor of
radiation-remover was everywhere.
She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arms fire.
"What is that?" she asked the transport attendant.
"The Commandant is shooting prisoners," he replied laconically.
"Oh."
"Where did you want to go?"
"To the personnel office."
"That way." He pointed to the largest building of the group-- two stories high, reasonably intact.
She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and there with dark sticky red. She gave
her visa to the guard at the door and was admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard
eyed her stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscene coughs of a Faeg pistol and
began to feel sick.
A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whispered something to the guard, and
then told Evelyn to follow her.
In the anteroom a gray cat looked her over curiously, and Evelyn frowned. She might have to get rid
of the cat if she stayed here. Under certain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.
The next room field a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of some sort, who was studying her
visa.
"I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria-- ah -- " he looked at the visa suspiciously-- "S'ria Lyn. Do sit
down. But as I was just remarking to S'ria Gerek, here"-- he nodded to the other woman, who smiled
back-- "I wish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whether they want you or don't
want you. Just why did they transfer you to H.Q.?"