"Jack Vance - Marune v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

Chapter 1


The Respectable Mergan had achieved his post, Superintendent at the
Carfaunge Spaceport, largely because the position demanded a tolerance for
unalterable routine. Mergan not only tolerated routine; he depended upon it.
He would have opposed the cessation of such nuisances as the morning rains,
the glass lizards with their squeaks and clicks, the walking slimes which
daily invaded the area, because then he would have been required to change
established procedure.

On the morning of a day he would later identify as tenth Mariel Gaean(1) he
arrived as usual at his office. Almost before he had settled behind his
desk, the night porter appeared with a blank faced young man in a
nondescript gray suit. Mergan uttered a wordless grumble; he had no taste
for problems, at any time, least of all before he had composed himself for
the day. The situation at the very least promised a disruption of routine.
At last he muttered: "Well, Dinster, what do you have here?"

Dinster, in a piping over-loud voice, called out, "Sorry to bother you, sir,
but what shall we do with this gentleman? He seems to be ill."

"Find him a doctor," growled Mergan. "Don't bring him here. I can't help
him."

"It's not that kind of illness, sir. More mental, if you get my meaning."

"Your meaning escapes me," said Mergan. "Why not just tell me what's wrong?"

Dinster politely indicated his charge. "When I came on duty he was sitting
in the waiting room and he's been there since. He hardly speaks; he doesn't
know his name, nor anything about himself."

Mergan inspected the young man with some faint awakening of interest.
"Hello, sir," he barked. "What's the trouble?"

The young man shifted his gaze from the window to Mergan, but offered no
response. Mergan gradually allowed himself to become perplexed. Why had the
young man's gold-brown hair been hacked short, as if by swift savage strokes
of a scissors? And the garments: clearly a size too large for the spare
frame!

"Speak!" commanded Mergan. "Can you hear? Tell me your name!"

The young man put on a thoughtful expression but remained silent.

"A vagabond of same sort," Mergan declared. "He probably wandered up from
the dye-works. Send him off again down the road."