"HARRISON, Harry - 08 - The Stainless Steel Rat Sings The Blues (V1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

security of the Mint and the Interstellar Credits produced here."
"I've done nothing wrong."
"Everything that you have done has been wrong. Attempting to deceive our
security with false identification, stunning a guard, penetrating the Mint
without supervision-these are all crimes under our law. What you have committed
so far makes you liable for fourteen concurrent life sentences." His grim voice
grew even grimmer. "But there is even worse than that-"
"What could be worse than fourteen life sentences?" Despite my efforts at calm
control I could hear my voice cracking.
"Death. That is the penalty for stealing from the Mint."
"I haven't stolen anything!" Definitely a quaver now.
"That will be determined very shortly. When the decision was made to mint
five-hundred-thousand-credit coins every precaution was taken to prevent their
theft. Integral to their fabric is a transponder that listens for a specific
signal at a specific frequency. It answers and reveals the location of the
coin."
"Stupid," I said with more bravado than I felt. "Won't work here. Not with all
the coins you have made-"
"All now safe behind ten feet of solid lead. Radiation proof. If there are any
other coins not in our custody the signal will sound."
Right on cue I heard the pealing of bells in the distance. The iron face of my
inquisitor was touched by a fleeting cold smile.
"The signal," he said. We sat in silence for long seconds. Until the door burst
open and the hurrying guards dropped a very familiar bag onto the desk. He
lifted the end slowly and the coins jangled forth.
"So that's what they look like. I never
"Silence!" he thundered. "These were removed from the minting room. They were
found suspended in the chimney from the smelter. Along with these other
objects."
"Proves nothing."
"Proves everything!" Quick as a snake he grabbed my hands, slammed them onto a
plate on his desk. A hologram of my fingerprints appeared instantly on the air
above.
"Any prints lifted from the coins?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Many," a spectral voice responded. A portion of the desk top rose up bearing
what appeared to be photographic prints. He looked at them and for the second
time I was treated to the sight of that frigid smile as he dropped the prints
through a slot. A second hologram floated in the air beside the first, moved
over and merged with it as he touched the controls.
The double image flickered and became one.
"Identical!" he said triumphantly. "You can tell me your if you wish. So it can
be spelled correctly on your tomb stone. But only if you wish."
"What do you mean tombstone? And what do you mean death sentence? That's illegal
by galactic law!"
"There is no galactic law down here," he intoned with a voice like a funeral
march. "There is only the law of the Mint. Judgment is final."
"The trial . . ." I said feebly, visions of lawyers, appeals, torts and
documents dancing in my head.
There was no mercy in his voice now, no touch of the tiniest of iceberg smiles
on his lips.