"Andre Norton - Jern Murdock 02 - Uncharted Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

wewere going, if I did not.We turned right a second time and then left. The
spacemen's rests now aboutwere such holes of crime that I feared to poke a
nose into any of them. Wewere fast approaching the last refuge of the
desperate, and the stinkinghideups of those who preyed upon them, driven
from the fatter profits of themain streets. The Diving Lokworm had, not its
name, but a representation ofthat unwholesome creature set in glow lines
about its door. The designer hadchosen to arrange it so that one
apparently entered through the openmouth--which was perhaps an apt
prophecy of what might really await theunwary within. The stench of the
outside was here magnified materially bythe fumes of several kinds of
drink and drug smoke. Two I recognized aslethal indeed to those who settled
down to make their consumption the mainbusiness of what little life
remained to them. But it was not dark. Theouter Lokworm had here its
companions, who writhed about the walk in far toolifelike fashion. And though
parts of those gleaming runnels of light haddarkened through want of
replacement, the whole gave enough radiance so onecould actually see the
customers' faces after a fashion, if not what mightbe served in the cups,
beakers, tubes, and the like placed before them.Unlike the drinking and eating
places in the more civilized (if that was theproper term) part of the port,
the Diving Lokworm had no table dials tofinger to produce nourishment, no
robo-servers whipping about. The trayswere carried by humans or aliens, none
of whom had a face to be observedlong without acute distaste. Some of
them were noticeably female, others--well, it could be a guess. And
frankly, had I been drinking the localpoison, it would have stopped a
second order to have the first slopped downbefore me by a lizardoid with two
pairs of arms. Unless the drink had beenmore important than what I saw when I
looked about me.The lizardoid was serving three booths along the wall, and
doing it mostefficiently: four hands were useful. There was a very
drunk party ofRegillians in the first. In the second something gray,
large, and wartysquatted. But in the third slumped a Terran, his head
supported on one hand,with the elbow of that arm planted firmly on the table
top. He had on theremains of a space officer's uniform which had not been
cleaned for a longtime. One insignia still clung by a few loose threads to
his tunic collar,but there was no house or ship badge on the breast, only
a dark splotchthere to show he had sometime lost that mark of
respectability.To take a man out of this stew was indeed combing the depths.
On the otherhand, all we really needed to clear the port was a pilot on
board. I did notdoubt that Eet and I together could get us out by setting
automatic for thefirst jump. And to accept a blacklisted man--always
supposing he was not aplant--was our only chance now."He is a pilot and a
fash-smoker." Eet supplied information, some of which Idid not care to
hear.Fash-smoke does not addict, but it does bring about a temporary
personalitychange which is dangerous. And a man who indulges in it is
certainly not apilot to be relied upon. If this derelict was sniffing it now,
he was to bemy last choice instead of my first. The only bright
thought was thatfash-smoke is expensive and one who set light to the
brazier to inhale itwas not likely to patronize the Diving Lokworm."Not now,"
Eet answered. "He is, I believe, drinking veever--"The cheapest beverage one
could buy and enough to make a man as sick as asudden ripple of color in
the tube worm on the wall made this loungerappear. The fact that the