"Niven, Larry - One Face" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

"Unfortunately not. Perhaps I could show you how to make one out of other machinery." Avran smiled humorously. "But there is a problem. I am fatally allergic to boosterspice extract. Thus I will be dead in less than a century, which unfortunately limits the length of any journey that I cail make."
Verd felt his face go numb. He was no more afraid of death than the next man, but-- frantically he tried to sort his climbing emotions before they strangled him. Admiration, wonder, shame, horror, fear. How could Avran live so casually with death? How could he have reached such a state of emotional maturity in what could be no more than fifty years? Shame won out, shame at his own reaction, and Verd felt himself flushing.
Awan looked concerned. "Perhaps I should come back later," he suggested.
"No! I'm all right." Verd had found his tabac stick without thinking. He pulled in a deep, cooling draft of orange smoke, and held it in his lungs for a long moment.
"A few more questions," he said briskly. "Does the Zoo consignment have grass seed? Are there any bacteria or algae?"
"Grass, yes. Forty-three varieties. No bacteria, I'm afraid."
"That's not good. It takes bacteria to turn rock dust into fertile soil."
"Yes." Avran considered. "We could start the process with sewage from the ship mixed with intestinal flora. Then add the rock dust. We have earthworms. It might work."
"Good."
"Now I have a question, Captain. What is that?"
Verd followed his pointing finger. "Never seen a tabac stick?"
Avran shook his head.
"There's a funny tranquilizer in tobacco that helps you concentrate, lets you block out distractions. People used to have to inhale tobacco smoke to get it. That caused lung cancer. Now we do it better. Are there tobacco plants in the consignment?"
"I'm afraid not. Can you give up the habit?"
"If I have to. But I'll hate it."
Verd sat for a moment after Avran had left, then got up and hunted down Parliss. "Avran claims to be allergic to boosterspice. I want to know if it's true. Can you find out?"
"Sure, Captain. It'll be in the medical record."
"Good.
"Why would he lie, Captain?"
"He may have a religious ban on boosterspice. If so, he might think I'd shoot him full of it just because I need him. And he'd be right."
There was no point in interviewing Strac Astrophysics again. Parliss told him that Strac spent most of his time in his room, and that he had found a pocket computer somewhere.
"He must have something in mind," said Parliss.
The next day Parliss came to the cabin. "I've gone through the medical histories," he said. "We're all in good shape, except Avran Zooman and Laspia Waitress. Avran told the truth. He's allergic to boosterspice. Laspia has a pair of cultured arms, no telling how she lost the old ones, and both ulnas have machinery in them. One's a dooper, one's a multirange sonic. I wonder what that sweet girl is doing armed to the teeth like that."
"So do I. Can you sabotage her?"
"I put an extension-recharger in her room. If she tries to shoot anyone she'll find her batteries are drained."
***
The sixth day was the day of mutiny.
Veid and Parliss were in the crew common room, going over Parliss' hundred-and-fifty-year schedule for shipboard living, when the door opened to admit Chanda. The first hint came from Chanda's taut, determined expression. Then Verd saw that someone had followed her in. He stood up to protest, then stood speechless as a line of passengers trooped into the crew common room, filling it nearly to bursting.
"I'm sorry, Captain," said Chanda. "We've come to demand your resignation."
Verd, still standing, let his eyes run over them. The pretty auburn-haired woman in front, the one who held her arms in an inconspicuously strained attitude-she must be Laspia Waitress. Jimm Farmer was also in the front rank. And Strac Astrophysics, looking acutely embarrassed. Many looked embarrassed, and many looked angry; Verd wasn't sure what they were angry at, or who. He gave himself a few seconds to think. Let 'em wait it out...
"On what grounds?" he asked mildly.
"On the ground that it's the best chance we have to stay alive," said Chanda.
"That's not sufficient grounds. You know that. You need a criminal charge to bring against me: dereliction of duty, sloppiness with the drive beam, murder, violation of religious tenets, drug addiction. Do you wish to make such a charge?"
"Captain, you're talking about impeachment-- legal grounds for mutiny. We don't have such grounds. We don't want to impeach you, regardless."
"Well, just what did you think this was, Chanda? An election?"
"We're inviting you to resign."
"Thanx, but I think not."
"We could impeach you, you know." Jimm Farmer was neither angry nor embarrassed; merely interested. "We could charge you with addiction to tabac sticks, try you, and convict you."
"Tabac sticks?"
"Sure, everybody knows they're not addictive. The point is that you can't find a higher court to reverse our decision."
"I guess that's true. Very well, go ahead."
Parliss broke in, in a harsh whisper. "Chanda, what are you doing?" His face, scalp, and ears burned sunset red.
The tall woman said, "Quiet, Parl. We're only doing what needs to be done."
"You're crazy with grief over that damn mechanical moron."
Chanda flashed him a smoking glare. Parliss returned it. She turned away, aloofly ignoring him.
Strac spoke for the first time. "Don't make us use force, Captain."
"Why not? Do you idiots realize what you're asking?" Verd's control was going. He'd been a young man when the Hogan's Goat was built. In nearly two centuries he'd flown her further than the total distance to Andromeda; nursed her and worried about her and lived his life in her lighted, rushing womb. What he felt must have showed in his face, for the girl with the auburn hair raised her left arm and held it innocently bent, pointed right at him. Probably it was the sonic; no doubt he would have been swathed in calming vibrations if her batteries had worked. But all he felt was nausea and a growing rage.
"I do," Strac said quietly. "We're asking you to make it possible for us to give you back your ship after this is over."
Verd jumped at him. A cold corner of his mind wag amazed at himself, but most of him only wanted to get his hands around Strac's bony, fragile throat. He glimpsed Laspia Waitress staring in panic at her forearms, and then a steel band closed around his ankle, and jerked. Verd stopped in midair.
It was Jimm Farmer. He had jumped across the room like a kangaroo. Verd looked back over his shoulder and carefully kicked him under the jaw. Jimm looked surprised and hurt. He squeezed!