"E. E. Doc Smith - Lensman 7 - Masters Of The Vortex" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

like that open mail ought to lose it, but it's tough on innocent bystanders. Anything else I can do for you?'
'Not unless you can lend us some officers, particularly navigators and communications officers.'
'Sorry, but we're short there ourselvesтАФfour of my best are in sick-bay. Sign this clearance, please, and I'll get on that
fellow's tail. I'll send your copy of my report to your head office. Clear ether!'
The cruiser shot away. Temporary repairs were made and the
liner, with Cloud and a couple of electronics technicians as
communications officers, finished the voyage to Dekanore III
without more interruption.
The Vortex Blaster was met at the dock by Works Manager
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Graves himself. The fat man was effusively sorry that Cloud had lost an arm, but assured him that the accident wouldn't lay
him up very long. He, Graves, would get a Posenian surgeon over here so fast that...
If the manager was taken aback to learn that Cloud had already had a Phillips treatment, he did not show it. He escorted the
specialist to Deka's best hotel, where he introduced him largely and volubly. Graves took him to supper. Graves took him
to a theater and showed him the town. Graves told the hotel management to give the scientist the best rooms and the best
valet they had, and that Cloud was not to be allowed to spend any of his own money. All of his activities, whatever their
nature, purpose, or extent, were to be charged to Tellurian Pharmaceuticals, Inc. Graves was a grand guy.
Cloud broke loose, finally, and went to the dock to see about getting his flitter.
It had not been unloaded. There would be a slight delay, he was informed, because of the insurance inspections
necessitated by the damageтАФand Cloud had not known that there had been any! When he had learned what had been done
to his little ship he swore bitterly and sought out the liner's senior officer. 'Why didn't you tell me we got holed?" he
demanded. 'Why, I don't know ... just that you didn't ask, is all, I guess. I don't suppose it occurred to anybodyтАФI know it
didn't meтАФ that you might be interested.'
And that was, Cloud knew, strictly true. Passengers were not informed of such occurrences. He had been enough of an
officer so that he could have learned anything he wished; but not enough of one to have been informed of such matters as
routine. Nor was it surprising that it had not come up in conversation. Damage to cargo meant nothing whatever to the
liner's overworked officers, standing double watches; a couple of easily-patched holes in the hull were not worth
mentioning. From their standpoint the only damage was done to the communicators, and Cloud himself had set them to
rights. This delay was his own fault as much as anybody else's. Yes, more.
'You won't lose anything, though,' the officer said, helpfully. 'Everything's covered, you know.'
'It isn't the money I'm yowling aboutтАФit's the time. That apparatus can't be duplicated anywhere except on Tellus, and even
there it's all special-order stuff. OH DAMN!' and Cloud
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strode away toward his hotel.
During the following days TPI entertained him royally. Not insistentlyтАФGraves was an expert in such mattersтАФbut simply
by giving him the keys to the planet. He could do anything he pleased. He could have all the company he wanted, male or
female, to help him to do it. Thus he didтАФwithin limitsтАФjust about what Graves wanted him to do; and, in spite of the fact
that he did not want to enjoy life, he liked it.
One evening, however, he refused to play a slot machine, explaining to his laughing companion that the laws of chance
were pretty thoroughly shackled in such mechanismsтАФand the idle remark backfired. What was the mathematical
probability that all the things that had happened to him could have happened by pure chance?
That night he analyzed his data. Six incidents; the probability was extremely small. Seven, if he counted his arm. If it had
been his left armтАФjet back! Since he wrote with his right hand, very few people knew that he was left-handed. Seven it
was; and that made it virtually certain. Accident was out.
But if he was being delayed and hampered deliberately, who was doing it, and why? It didn't make sense. Nevertheless, the
idea would not down.
He was a trained observer and an analyst second to none. Therefore he soon found out that he was being shadowed
wherever he went, but he could not get any really significant leads. Wherefore:
'Graves, have you got a spy-ray detector?' he asked boldlyтАФ and watchfully.