"Norton, Andre - Solar Queen 01 - Sargasso of Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

and judging from various incidents at the Pool, what Artur expected he usually got.

On the other hand Dane had often good reason to worry about the future. And if he were going to have
hard luck now he would rather learn it without witnesses. But there was no getting rid of Artur he realized.
So philosophically he checked his kit while the others waited impatiently.
They had come by air--the best was none too good for Artur and his crowd. Why hadn't they been to the
cargo department assignment Psycho before this? Why had they waited the extra hour--or had they spent
their last truly free time sightseeing? Surely--Dane knew a little lift of heart at the thought--it couldn't be
that they were dubious about the machine's answer too?

But that hope was quenched as he joined them in time to hear Artur expound his favourite theme.

"The machine impartial! That's just the comet dust they feed you back at the Pool. Sure, we know the story
they set up--that a man has to be fitted by temperament and background to his job, that each ship has to
carry a well integrated crew--but that's all moon gas! When Inter-Solar wants a man, they get him--and
no Psycho fits him into their ships if they don't want him! That's for the guys who don't know how to fire
the right jets--or haven't brains enough to look around for good berths. I'm not worrying about being
stuck on some starving Free Trader on the fringe--"

Ricki and Hanlaf were swallowing every word of that. Dane didn't want to. His belief in the
incorruptibility of the Psycho was the one thing he had clung to during the past few weeks when Artur and
those like him had strutted about the Pool confident about their speedy transition to the higher levels of
Trade.

He had preferred to believe that the official statements were correct, that a machine, a collection of
impulses and relays which could be in no way influenced, decided the fate of all who applied for
assignment to off-world ships. He wanted to believe that when he fed his ID plate into the Psycho at the
star port here it would make no difference that he was an orphan without kin in the service, that the flatness
of his money belt could not turn or twist a decision which would be based only on his knowledge, his past
record at the Pool, his temperament and potentialities.

But doubt had been planted and it was that lack of faith which worked on him now, slowing his pace as
they approached the assignment room. On the other hand Dane had no intention of allowing Artur or either
of his satellites to guess he was bothered.

So a stubborn pride pushed him forward to be the first of the four to fit his ID into the waiting slot. His
fingers twitched to snatch it back again before it disappeared, but he controlled that impulse and stood
aside for Artur.

The Psycho was nothing but a box, a square of solid metal-- or so it looked to the waiting apprentices.
And that wait might have been easier, Dane speculated, had they been able to watch the complicated
processes inside the bulk, could have seen how those lines and notches incised on their plates were
assessed, matched, paired, until a ship now in port and seeking apprentices was found for them.

Long voyages for small crews sealed into star spacers, with little chance for recreation or amusement, had
created many horrible personnel problems in the past. Some tragic cases were now required reading in the
"History of Trade" courses at the Pool. Then came the Psycho and through its impersonal selection the
right men were sent to the right ships, fitted into the type of work, the type of crew where they could
function best with the least friction. No one at the Pool had told them how the Psycho worked--or how it
could actually read an ID strip. But when the machine decided, its decision was final and the verdict was