"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 03 - Lava" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

93, (f) empowers me to have you arrested for causing a disturbance in a
Fling Booth. You have thirty seconds to leave before I call the police.
Counting." With that, he switched off the PA system and leaned back, eyes
closed.
People!
Feighan's job was to Fling up to 918 kilograms of massтАФ animal,
vegetable, or mineral; it mattered notтАФto one of the twelve planets in the
Flinger Network to which he was certified to teleport. It was a good job, in
the sense that it gave him security, $250,000 a year, a distinctive uniform,
and a fair amount of prestigeтАФbut it was boring.
He opened his eyes. Van der Voort had gone; the next group had entered.
Thirteen Terrans, both sexes; all were young and a bit on the lean and
hungry side. The screen's destination segment read: DELURC. The
countdown clock gave him forty-two seconds. They weighed in at 917.8
kilograms. He touched his mike. "Is everybody ready?"
A chorus of assent rose up.
"Anybody who wants to change his mind has thirty-five
secondsтАФmark!тАФto leave the room."
Nobody moved.
He sighed. "Twenty-five seconds, mark! Delurc is not what you think it's
going to be, friends, and dream-selling is a lousy way to make money.
Fifteen seconds, mark! All ashore that's going ashore." He shut his eyes,
concentrating on the group before him while visualizing the underwater
domes of the planet Delurc, where lived the fish who bought men's souls.
He felt, and he knew, andтАФ*PING*тАФfor one gasping moment thought he
had skewed the angular momentum. At the last second he got it right, and
Flopped them down safe and sound. "Idiots!" Savagely, he switched off the
PA and called up a crossword puzzle onto the screen.
 He had forty-six more Flings before his first shift of the day would be
over. After four hours off, he would have to report back for another four on.
The phone rang; he picked it up. "Feighan."
"Hi, McGill, it's Sam. Listen, you know that big tub on the terrace, the one
the Christmas tree was in?"
"The guaranteed live one that died in a week?" That still stung; he should
have seen the brown needles.
"That's the one."
"Uh-huh. What about it?"
"Can H'nik use it?"
He scratched his head. "For what?"
"To, umтАж you know. To sit in. Or whatever."
Feighan shrugged. "I don't mind." Through the telephone came a rasping.
"What?"
"He says, do we have any plant food? What was that?" said Sam to H'nik.
While Feighan waited for them to settle it, the door below opened.
Automated pallets bore in a stack of crates the screen showed were destined
for RiiтАФedsch. Then Sam got back on the line. "He says 5-10-5 is best, do
we have any?"
"What is 5-10-5тАФand I don't think we have any, anyway."
"Can I ask Oscar?"
"Sure, if you know how."