"Doorsways in the Sand 04" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

"Later for that . . ."
A thing of textures and shadings: bright, brighter, smooth, smoother. Hard. Clear.
Lying there in my sling during Wakeful Period One:
"How are you feeling now?" Ragma asked.
"Tired, weak, still thirsty."
"Understandable. Here, drink this."
"Thanks. Tell me what happened. Was I hit?"
"Yes, you were hit twice. Fairly superficial. We have repaired the damage. The healing should be complete in a matter of hours."
"Hours? How many have passed since we departed?"
"Three, approximately. I carried you aboard after you fell. We lifted off, leaving your assailants, the continent, the planet, behind. We are in orbit about your world now, but we will be departing it shortly."
"You must be stronger than you look to have carried me."
"Apparently so."
"Where do you intend taking me from here?"
"To another planet-a most congenial one. The name would mean nothing to you."
"Why?"
"Safety and necessity. You seem to be in a position to provide information that could be very helpful in an investigation with which we are connected. We wish to obtain that information, but there are others who would like to have it also! Because of them, you would be in danger on your own planet. So, for purposes of insuring your safety as well as furthering our inquiry, the simplest thing is to remove you."
"Ask me. I'm not ungrateful for the rescue. What do you want to know? If it is the same thing Zeemeister and Buckler wanted, though. I'm afraid I can't be of much help."
"We are operating under that assumption. We believe that the information we require of you exists at an unconscious level, however. The best means of extracting something of that sort is through the offices of a good telepathic analyst. There are many such in the place we will be visiting."
"How long will we be there?"
"You will remain there until we have completed our investigation."
"And how long will that take?"
He sighed and shook his head.
"At this point it is impossible to say."
I felt the soft blackness brush like the tail of a passing cat against me. Not yet! No . . . I couldn't just let them haul me off that way for an indefinite leave of absence from everything I knew. It was in that moment that I appreciated the deathbed peeve-loose ends, all the little things that should be wrapped up before you go away: write that letter, settle up those accounts, finish the book on the night table . . . If I dropped out at this point in the semester, it would screw me up academically, financially-and who would buy my explanation? No. I had to stop them from taking me away. But the smooth to soft shadings were on the rise once more. I had to be quick.
"I'm sorry," I managed, "but that is impossible. I can't go with . . ."
"I am afraid that you must. It is absolutely necessary," he said.
"No," I said, panicking, fighting against fading before I could settle this. "No-you can't."
"I believe a similar concept exists in your own jurisprudence. You call it 'protective custody.' "
"What about Article 7224, Section C?" I blurted out, feeling my speech slip over into a slur as my eyes fell closed.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me," I remember muttering. "Seven . . . two . . . two . . . four. Sec . . . tion . . . C . . . That's why..."
And then, again, nothing.

The cycles of awareness bore me back-to consciousness or within spitting distance of it-several times more before I stuck at something approaching full wakefulness and filled it with California-watching. It was by degrees that I became aware of the argument that filled the air, obtaining its content in a detached, academic sort of way. They were upset over something that I had said.
Oh yes . . .
Article 7224, Section C. It had to do, I gathered, with the removal of intelligent creatures from their home planets without their consent. Part of a galactic treaty to which my rescuers' worlds were signatory, it was the closest thing to an interstellar constitution that they had. There was, however, sufficient ambiguity in the present situation to make for a debatable issue, in that there was also provision for removal without consent for a variety of overriding causes, such as quarantine for species protection, non-military reprisal for violations of certain other provisions, a kind of sensitive catchall for "interstellar security" and several more along these lines, all of which they discussed and rediscussed at great length. I had obviously touched on a delicate area, especially in light of the recency of their initial contact with Earth. Ragma kept insisting that if they chose one of the exceptions as controlling and removed me on that basis, their legal department would back them up. If it ever actually came to a point where an adjudication became necessary and they were reversed, he felt that he and Charv would not be held especially liable for their interpretation of the law, in that they were field operatives rather than trained legal personnel. Charv, meanwhile, maintained that it was obvious that none of the exceptions applied and that it would be even more obvious what they had done. Better, he decided, to let the telepathic analyst they employed implant the desire to cooperate within my mind. There were several, he was certain, who could be persuaded to solve their problem in that fashion. But this irritated Ragma. It would be a clear violation of my rights under another provision, as well as concealment of the evidence of their violation under this one. He would have no part of it. If they were going to move me, he wanted a defense other than concealment. So they reviewed the exceptions again, pondering each word, letting the words talk to each other, recalling past cases, sounding the while like Jesuits, Talmudists, dictionary editors or disciples of the New Criticism. We continued to orbit the Earth.
It was not until much later that Charv interrupted things with a question that had been bothering me all along: "Where did he learn about Article 7224, anyway?"
They repaired to the sling, interrupting my view of storm patterns off Cape Hatteras. Seeing that my eyes were open, they nodded and gestured in what I believe they intended as a pantomime of good will and concern.
"Have you been resting well?" Charv inquired.
"Quite."
"Water?"
"Please."
I drank some, then: "Sandwich?" he asked.
"Yes. Thanks."
He produced one and I began eating.
"We have been quite concerned over your well-being-and about doing the right thing in your case."
"That is good of you."
"We have been wondering about something that you said a while back, dealing with our offer to provide you with sanctuary during a fairly routine investigation we will be conducting on your planet. It seemed as if you cited a section of the Galactic Code just before you dropped off to sleep last time. But you mumbled somewhat and we could not be certain. Was this the case?"
"Yes."
"I see," he said, adjusting his sunglasses. "Would you mind telling us how you became acquainted with its provisions?"