"Smith, E E 'Doc' - Lensman 07 - Masters Of The Vortex" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

the white-swathed girl began, as soon as communication was established. 'It is the law. This vessel, the Vortex Blaster I, of Earth registry, belonging to the Galactic Patrol, is of a tonnage which obligates it to carry a medical doctor; or, in and for the duration of an emergency only, a registered graduate nurse. I am both R.N. and M.D. If you prefer to employ some other nursing doctor or doctor and nurse that is of course your right; but I can not and will not leave this ship until I am replaced by competent personnel. If I did such a thing I would be disgraced for life.'
'But I haven't got a payroll-I never have had one!' Cloud protested.
'Don't quibble, please. It is also the law that any master or acting master of any ship of this tonnage is authorized to employ for his owner-in this case the Galactic Patrol-whatever personnel is necessary, whenever necessary, at his discretion. With or without pay, however, I stay on until replaced.' 'But I don't need a doctor-or a nurse, either!' 'Personally, now, no,' she conceded, equably enough. 'I checked into that. As the chief of your great laboratory quoted to you, "This too, shall pass." It is passing. But you must have a crew; and any member of it, or you yourself, may require medical or surgical attention at any time. The only question, then, is whether or not you wish to replace me. Would you like to examine my credentials?'
'No. Having been en rapport with your mind, it is not necessary. But are you, after your position aboard the ship which was lost, interested in such a small job as this?' 'I would like it very much, I'm sure.'
'Very well. If any of them stay, you can-at the same pay you were getting.'
'Now, Thlaskin, the Vegian. No, hold it! We've got to have something better than spaceal, and a lot of Vegians go in for languages in a big way. She may know English or Spanish, since Vegia is one of Tellus' next-door neighbors. I'll try her myself.'
Then, to the girl, 'Do you speak English, miss?' 'No, eggzept in glimzzez only,' came the startling reply. 'Two Galactic Zdandard yearzz be pazz-come? Go?-'ere I mazzter zhe, zo perverze mood and tenze. Zhe izz zo difficult and abzdruze.'
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Switching to Galactic Spanish, which language was threatening to become the common tongue of Galactic Civilization, she went on:
'But I heard you say "Zbanidge." I know Galactic Spanish very well. I speak it well, too, except for the sounds of "ezz" and "zeta," which all we Vegians must make too hard-z-z-z, zo. One hears that nearly all educated Tellurians have the Spanish, and you are educated, of a certainty. You speak it, no?'
'Practically as well as I do English.' Cloud made relieved reply. 'You have very little accent, and that little is charming. My name is Neal Cloud. May I ask yours?'
'Neelcloud? I greet you. Mine is Vezzptkn ... but no, you couldn't pronounce it. "Vezzta," it would have to be in your tongue.'
'QX. We have a name very close to that-Vesta.'
'That's exactly what I said-Vezz-ta.'
'Oh-excuse me, please. You were talking to this lady- Tomingan, she said? What language were you using?'
'Fourth-continent Tomingan, Middle Plateau dialect. Hers. She was an engineer in a big power plant on Manarka, is how she came to learn their sign language. Tomingans don't go in for linguistics much.'
'And you very evidently do. How many languages do you know, young lady?'
'Only fifty so far-plus their dialects, of course. I'm only halfway to my Master of Languages degree. Fifty more to learn yet, including your cursed Englidge. P-f-z-t-k.' Vesta wrinkled her nose, bared her teeth, and emitted a noise very similar to that made by an alley cat upon meeting a strange dog. 'I don't know whether spaceal will count for credit or not, but I'm going to learn it anyway.'
'Nice going, Vesta. Now, why did you appoint yourself a member of this party?'
'I wanted to go, and since I can't pay fare ...'
'You wouldn't have had to!' Cloud interrupted. 'If you lost your money aboard that ship, the Patrol would take you anywhere ...'
'Oh, I didn't mean that? She dipped into her belt-bag and held out for the man's inspection a book of Travelers' Cheques good for fifty thousand G-P credits! 'I wanted to continue with you, and I knew this wasn't a passenger ship. I can be useful-
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who do you think lined up that translation relay?-and besides, I can work. I can cook-keep house-and I can learn any other job fast. You believe me?'
Cloud looked at her. She was as tall as he was, and heavier; stronger and faster. 'Yes, you can work, if you want to, and I think you would. But you haven't said why you want to go along.'
'Mostly because it's the best chance I'll ever have to learn English. I went to Tellus once before to learn it-but there are too many Vegians there. Young Vegians, like me, like to play too much. You know?'
'I've heard so. But teachers, courses ...?'
'I need neither teachers nor courses. What I need is what you have in your library-solid English.'
'QX. I'll reserve judgment on you, too. Now let's hear what the Tomingan has to say What's her name'}'
'You'd be surprised!' Vesta giggled in glee. 'Literally translated, it's "Little flower of spring, dwelling bashfully by the brook's damply sweet brink." And that's an exact transliteration, so help me-believe it or not!'
'I'll take your word for it. What shall we call her?'
'Urn ... m ... "Tommie" would be as good as anything, I guess.'
'QX. Tommie of Tominga. Ask her why she thinks she has to be a member of our crew.'
'Who else do you have who can repair one of your big atomic engines if it lets go?' came the answering question, in Vesta's flawlessly idiomatic Galactic Spanish.
Cloud was amazed at Tommie's changed appearance. She was powdered, perfumed, and painted: and made up to the gills. Her heavy blonde hair was elaborately waved. If it wasn't for her diesel-truck build, Cloud thought-and for the long black Venerian cigar she was smoking with such evident relish -she'd be a knockout on anybody's tri-di screen!
'I can.' The profoundly deep, but pleasantly and musically resonant voice went on; the fluent translation continued. 'What I don't know about atomic engines hasn't been found out yet. I don't know much about Bergenholms and a couple of other things pertaining solely to flight, and I don't know anything about communicators or detectors, which aren't engineers' business. I've laid in a complete supply of atomic service manuals
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for class S-C ships, and I tell you this-if anything with a motor or an engine in it aboard this vessel ever has run, I can take it apart and put it back together so it'll run again. And by the way, you didn't have half enough spare parts aboard, but you have now. Besides, you might need somebody to really swing that axe of yours, some day.'
Cloud studied the Tomingan narrowly. She wasn't bragging, he decided finally. She was simply voicing what to her were simple truths.
'Your arguments have weight. Why do you want the job?'
'Several reasons. I've never done anything like this before, and it'll be fun. Main reason, though, is that I think I'll be able to talk you into doing a job on Tominga that has needed doing for a long time. I was a passenger, not an officer, on my way to talk to a party about ways of getting it done. You changed my mind. You and I, with some others who'll be glad to help, will be able to do it better.'
Tommie volunteered no more information, and Cloud asked no more questions. Explanation would probably take more time than could be spared.
'Now you, Thlaskin,' the Blaster said in spaceal. 'What have you got to say for yourself?'
'You've got me on a hell of a spot, boss,' the pilot admitted, ruefully. 'You've got to have a pilot, no question about that. You already know I'm one. I know automatics, and communicators, and detectors-the works. Ordinarily I'd say you'd have to have me. But this ain't a regular case. I wasn't a pilot on the heap that got knocked out of the ether, but a passenger. Malu-leme-she's my ... say, ain't there no word for ...'
He broke off and spoke rapidly to his wife, who relayed it to Vesta.
'They're newlyweds,' the Vegian translated. 'He was off duty and they were on their honeymoon ...'
Vesta's wonderfully expressive face softened, saddened. She appeared about to cry. 'I wish I were old enough to be a newly-wed,' she said, plaintively.
'Huh? Aren't you?' the Blaster demanded. 'You look old enough to me.'
'Oh, I'm as big as I ever will be, and I won't change outside. It's inside. About half a year yet. But she's saying-
'We know that pilots on duty, in regular service, can't have