"Eric Frank Russell - Allamagoosa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

"You bet it doesтАФuntil after Hizonner has been and gone." He glanced at Pike. "When you get into the
city, search around and send back any of the crew you can find. No arguments or excuses. Also no alibis
and/or delays. It's an order."

Pike registered unhappiness. Gregory glowered at him, went away, came back and said, "Stores will
have the stuff here in twenty minutes' time." With bad grace he watched Pike depart.
"M47. Intercom cable, woven-wire protected, three drums."

"Check," said Gregory, mentally kicking himself for returning at the wrong time.

The task continued until late in the evening, was resumed early next morning. By that time three-quarters
of the men were hard at work inside and outside the vessel, doing their jobs as though sentenced to them
for crimes contemplated but not yet committed.

Moving around the ship's corridors and catwalks had to be done crab-fashion, with a nervous sidewise
edging. Once again it was being demonstrated that the Terran life-form suffers from ye fear of wette
paynt. The first smearer would have ten years willed off his unfortunate life.

It was in these conditions, in midafternoon of the second day, that McNaught's bones proved their
feelings had been prophetic. He recited the ninth page while Jean Blanchard confirmed the presence and
actual existence of all items enumerated. Two-thirds of the way down they hit the rocks, metaphorically
speaking, and commenced to sink fast.




┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖


McNaught said boredly, "V1097. Drinking bowl, enamel, one of."
"Is zis," said Blanchard, tapping it.

"V1098. Offog, one."

"Quoi?" asked Blanchard, staring.

"V1098. Offog, one," repeated McNaught. "Well, why are you looking thunderstruck? This is the ship's
galley. You're the head cook. You know what's supposed to be in the galley, don't you? Where's this
offog?"

"Never hear of heem," stated Blanchard, flatly.

"You must have. It's on this equipment-sheet in plain, clear type. Offog, one, it says. It was here when we
were fitted-out four years ago. We checked it ourselves and signed for it."

"I signed for nossings called offog," Blanchard denied. "In the cuisine zere is no such sing."

"Look!" McNaught scowled and showed him the sheet.