"Barry N. Malzberg - The Market In Aliens" - читать интересную книгу автора (Malzberg Barry N)

"Of course. You know how we do business. Personally, Harry, to loosen up a bit, I tell you that I don't
see much of a future in this business for either of us, not with these latest reports. But I agree that you
always came across with fair merchandise, and if he's a nice specimen, we might be able to turn him over
to a lab, skip the zoo-route completely. I'll do this for old time's sake, but the lab pays only about 300, I
want you to know, so who's taking the loss here?"

"Maybe the alien, is that what you're trying to tell me?" I said, and switched off altogether. The hell with
them. Unctuous bastard. If anybody was going to get crucified first, though, it was going to be the
Blacks, not me. I was only performing a service for a public demand, and I could prove it.

I went into the bathroom, feeling pretty disgusted with the whole conversation, and looked at the alien for
a while. He was in a semi-doze, one of the usual comas, the eyes bright and fixated on me as he moved
slowly on his back. His tentacles were twitching. No whistling, no gestures though.

"Only a few minutes for you here and you're gone, boy," I said. I always try to communicate with them; I
never said they weren't intelligent. Deep inside me there is the belief that a bit of soul exists in everything.
Hell, maybe they came to earth to cure us; how the hell do I know? When I see it, I'll believe it, that's all
I know.

I locked the bathroom door and went into the den and watched television for a time, waiting for the crew
to come. As usual, Black's boys were late. A bulletin came on saying that yet another of their ships had
landed somewhere near Lake Michigan, the second in a week in that general area, and that the usual
procedures were being followed. That relieved the depression a bit. It meant that if they were efficient
there for a change, the auction would probably be ready to go by day after tomorrow. Detroit was a nice
city; I hadn't seen it for a while. So I called United and booked a flight, taking coach; no sense overdoing
pleasure with business.

Some time after that, just before the crew finally came, one of those damned scientists came on in an
interview with the usual recent crap about mass guilt and stellar communication, and I switched that right
off. The profit on the sale, less the airline deposit, left me with fifty clear and what I did was to call Ginny
and take her out. We went to the zoo where I showed her the two specimens which were mine. On my
own level, I'm very sentimental about the freaks.

The End