"Henry Kuttner - Clash by Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

Scott of Doone's Free Companions. He may never have existed-
I
O, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy, go away'; But it's 'Thank you, Mr. Atkins,' when
the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play- O, ifs 'Thank
you, Mr. Atkins,' when the band begins to play.
-R. Kipling circa 1900
Scott drank stinging uisqueplus and glowered across the
smoky tavern. He was a hard, stocky man, with thick grey-shot brown hair and the scar of an old
wound crinkling his chin. He was thirty-odd, looking like the veteran he was, and he had sense
enough to wear a plain suit of blue celoflex, rather than the garish silks and rainbow fabrics
that were all around him.
Outside, through the transparent walls, a laughing throng was carried to and fro along the movable
ways. But in the tavern it was silent, except for the low voice of a harpman as he chanted some
old ballad, accompanying himself on his complicated instrument. The song came to an end. There was
scattered applause, and from the hot-box overhead the blaring music of an orchestra burst out.
Instantly the restraint was gone. In the booths and at the bar men and women began to laugh and
talk with casual unrestraint. Couples were dancing now.
The girl beside Scott, a slim, tan-skinned figure with glossy black ringlets cascading to her
shoulders, turned inquiring eyes to him.
'Want to, Brian?'
Scott's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. 'Suppose so, Jeana. Eh?' He rose, and she came gracefully
into his arms. Brian did not dance too well, but what he lacked in practice he made up in
integration. Jeana's heart-shaped face, with its high cheekbones and vividly crimson lips, lifted
to him.
'Forget Bienne. He's just trying to ride you.'
Scott glanced toward a distant booth, where two girls sat with a man - Commander Fredric Bienne of
the Doones. He was a gaunt, tall, bitter-faced man, his regular features twisted into a perpetual
sneer, his eyes sombre under heavy dark brows. He was pointing now, toward the couple on the
floor.
'I know,' Scott said. 'He's doing it, too. Well, the hell with him. So I'm a captain now and he's
still a commander. That's tough. Next time he'll obey orders and not send his ship out of the
line, trying to ram.'
'That was it, eh?' Jeana asked. 'I wasn't sure. There's plenty of talk.'
'There always is. Oh, Bienne's hated me for years. I reciprocate. We simply don't get on together.
Never did. Every time I got a promotion, he chewed his nails. Figured he had a longer service
record than I had, and deserved to move up faster. But he's too much of an individualist - at the
wrong times.'
'He's drinking a lot,' Jeana said.
'Let him. Three months we've been in Montana Keep. The boys get tired of inaction- being treated
like this.' Scott nodded toward the door, where a Free Companion was arguing with the keeper. 'No
noncoms allowed in here. Well, the devil with it.'
They could not hear the conversation above the hubbub, but its importance was evident. Presently
the soldier shrugged, his mouth forming a curse, and departed. A fat man in scarlet silks shouted
encouragement.
'-want any . . . Companions here!'
Scott saw Commander Bienne, his eyes half closed, get up and walk toward the fat man's booth. His
shoulder moved in an imperceptible shrug. The hell with civilians, anyhow. Serve the lug right if


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