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

'I realize that the report may have been exaggerated, or premature, or both. However, not as a reward, but simply in
appreciation, the Patrol would be very glad to have you as its guests throughout such a tripтАФall expensesтАФif you like.'
They liked.
'Thank you. Lieutenant, please take Miss Cochran and Mr. Ryder to the disbursing office. Dr. Cloud, the Patrol will take
cognizance of what you have done. In the meantime, however, I would like to say that in uncovering this thing you have
been of immense assistance to us.'
'Nothing much sir, I'm afraid. I shudder to think of what's coming. If zwilniks can grow Trenconian broadleaf anywhere ...'
4?
'Not at all, not at all,' Ellington interrupted. 'If such an entirely unsuspected firm as Tellurian Pharmaceuticals, with all their
elaborate preparations and precautions, could not do much more than start, it is highly improbable that any other attempt
will be a success. You have given us a very potent weapon against zwil-nik operationsтАФnot only thionite, but heroin,
ladolian, nitrolabe, and the rest.'
'What weapon?" Cloud was puzzled.
'Statistical analysis and correlation of apparently unrelated indices.'
'But they've been used for years!'
'Not the way you used them, my friend. Thus, while we cannot count upon any more such extraordinary help as you gave
us, we should not need any. Can I give you a lift back to Tellus?'
'I don't think so, thanks. My stuff is en route now. I'll have to blow out this vortex anyway. Not that I think there's anything
unusual about itтАФthose were undoubtedly murders, not vortex casualties at allтАФbut for the record. Also, since I can't do
any more exinguishing until my arm finishes itself up, I may as well stay here and keep on practising.'
'Practising? Practising what?'
'Gun-slingingтАФthe lightning draw. I intend to get at least a lunch while the next pirate who pulls a DeLameter on me is
getting a square meal.'
And Councillor Ellington conferred with another Gray Lens-man; one who was not even vaguely humanoid.
'Did you take him apart?'
'Practically cell by cell.'
'What do you think the chances are of finding and developing another like him?'
'With a quarter of a million Lensmen working on it now, and the number doubling every day, and with a hundred thousand
million planets, with almost that many different cultures, it is my considered opinion that it is merely a matter of time.'
48
5: The Boneheads
Since becoming the Vortex Blaster, Neal Cloud lived alone. Whenever he decently could, he traveled alone and worked
alone. He was alone now, hurtling through a barren region of space toward Rift Seventy One and the vortex next upon his
list. In the interests of solitude, convenience, and efficiency he was now driving a scout-class ship which had been
converted to one-man and automatic operation. In one hold was his vortex blasting flitter; in the others his duodec bombs
and other supplies.
During such periods of inaction as this, he was wont to think flagellantly of Jo and the three kids; especially of Jo. Now,
however, and much to his surprise and chagrin, the pictures which had been so vividly clear were beginning to fade. Unless
he concentrated consciously, his thoughts strayed elsewhere: to the last meeting of the Society; to the new speculations as
to the why and how of supernovae; to food; to bowlingтАФmaybe he'd better start that again, to see if he couldn't make his
hook roll smoothly into the one-two pocket instead of getting so many seven-ten splits. Back to foodтАФfor the first time in
the Vortex Blaster's career he was really hungry.
Which buttons would he push for supper? Steak and Venerian mushrooms would be mighty good. So would fried ham and
eggs, or high-pressured gameliope ...
An alarm bell jangled, rupturing the silence; a warm-blooded oxygen-breather's distress call, pitifully weak, was coming in.
It would have to be weak, Cloud reflected, as he tuned it in as sharply as he could; he was a good eighty-five parsecsтАФat
least an hour at maximum blastтАФaway from the nearest charted traffic lane. It was getting stronger. It hadn't just started,
then; he had just gotten into its range. He acknowledged, swung his little ship's needle nose into the line and slammed on
full drive. He had not gone far on the new course however, when a tiny but brilliant flash of light showed on his plate and
the distress-call stopped. Whatever had occurred was history.