"E. E. Doc Smith - Lensman 3 - Galactic Patrol" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

the hollow
form.
From a small container labelled "#1, Kimball Kinnison," the Commandant
shook
out what was apparently an ornament -- a lenticular jewel fabricated of hundreds
of tiny,
dead-white gems. Taking it up with a pair of insulated forceps he touched it
momentarily to the bronzed skin of the arm before him, and at that fleeting
contact a
flash as of many-colored fire swept over the stones. Satisfied, he dropped the
jewel into
a recess provided for it in the mechanism, which at once burst into activity.
The forearm was wrapped in thick insulation, molds and shields snapped into
place, and there flared out an instantly-suppressed flash of brilliance
intolerable. Then
the molds fell apart, the insulation was removed, and there was revealed the
LENS.
Clasped to Kinnison's brawny wrist by a bracelet of imperishable, almost
unbreakable,
metal in which it was imbedded it shone in all its lambent splendor тАУ no longer
a whitely
inert piece of jewelry, but a lenticular polychrome of writhing, almost fluid
radiance
which proclaimed to all observers in symbols of ever-changing flame that here
was a
Lensman of the GALACTIC PATROL.
In similar fashion each man of the Class was invested with the symbol of
his
rank. Then the stern-faced Commandant touched a button and from the bare metal
floor there arose deeply-upholstered chairs, one for each graduate.
"Fall out," he commanded, then smiled almost boyishly -- the first
intimation any
of the Class ever had that the hard-boiled old tyrant could smile -- and went on
in a
strangely altered voice.
"Sit down men, and smoke up. We have an hour in which to talk things over,
and
now I can tell you what it is all about. Each of you will find his favorite
refreshment in the
arm of his chair.
"No, there's no catch to it," he continued in answer to amazedly doubtful
stares,
and lighted a huge black cigar of Venerian tobacco as he spoke. "You are Lensmen
now. Of course you have yet to go through the formalities of Commencement, but
they
don't count. Each of you really graduated when his Lens came to life.
"We know your individual preferences, and each of you has his favorite
weed,
from Tilotson' s Pittsburgh stogies up to Snowden's Alsakanite cigarettes --
even though