JК
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 124 из 164The stigmata still showed onhis face.
Kempsey remained unconscious. Foyle waited.
Kempsey awoke, screaming.
Foyle leaped up, tightened the straps and leaned over the heartless man.
«Hallo, Kempsey,» he said. Kempsey screamed.
«Look at yourself, Kempsey. You're dead.»
Kempsey fainted. Foyle brought him to with the oxygen mask. «Let me die, for God's sake!»
«What's the matter? Does it hurt? I died for six months, and I didn't whine.»
«Let me die.»
«In time, Kempsey. Your sympathetic block's been bypassed, but I'll let you die in time, if you behave. You were aboard 'Vorga' on September 16, 2436?»
«For Christ's sake, let me die.»
«You were aboard 'Vorga'?»
«Yes.»
«You passed a wreck out in space. Wreck of the 'Nomad.' She signaled for help and you passed her by. Yes?»
«Yes.»
«Why?»
«Christ! Oh Christ help me!»
«Why?»
«Oh Jesus!»
«I was aboard 'Nomad,' Kempsey. Why did you leave me to rot?»
«Sweet Jesus help me! Christ, deliver me!»
«I'll deliver you, Kempsey, if you answer questions. Why did you leave me to rot?»
«Couldn't pick you up.»
«Why not?»
«Reffs aboard.»
«Oh? I guessed right, then. You were running refugees in from Callisto?»
«Yes.»
«How many?»
«Six hundred.»
«That's a lot, but you could have made room for one more. Why didn't you pick me up?»
«We were scuttling the reffs.»
«What!» Foyle cried.
«Overboard. . . all of them. . . six hundred. . . Stripped 'em. . . took their clothes, money, jewels, baggage . . . Put 'em through the airlock in batches. Christ! The clothes all over the ship . . . The shrieking and the…Jesus! If I could only forget! The naked women . . . blue. . . busting wide open . . spinning behind us . . . The clothes all over the ship . . . Six hundred. . . Scuttled!»
«You son of a bitch! It was a racket? You took their money and never intended bringing them to earth?»
«It was a racket.»
«And that's why you didn't pick me up?»
«Would have had to scuttle you anyway.»
«Who gave the order?»
«Captain.»
«Name?»
«Joyce. Lindsey Joyce.»
«Address?»
«Skoptsy Colony, Mars.»
«What!» Foyle was thunderstruck. «He's a Skoptsy? You mean after hunting him for a year, I can't touch him. . . hurt him. . .
Kempsey remained unconscious. Foyle waited.
Kempsey awoke, screaming.
Foyle leaped up, tightened the straps and leaned over the heartless man.
«Hallo, Kempsey,» he said. Kempsey screamed.
«Look at yourself, Kempsey. You're dead.»
Kempsey fainted. Foyle brought him to with the oxygen mask. «Let me die, for God's sake!»
«What's the matter? Does it hurt? I died for six months, and I didn't whine.»
«Let me die.»
«In time, Kempsey. Your sympathetic block's been bypassed, but I'll let you die in time, if you behave. You were aboard 'Vorga' on September 16, 2436?»
«For Christ's sake, let me die.»
«You were aboard 'Vorga'?»
«Yes.»
«You passed a wreck out in space. Wreck of the 'Nomad.' She signaled for help and you passed her by. Yes?»
«Yes.»
«Why?»
«Christ! Oh Christ help me!»
«Why?»
«Oh Jesus!»
«I was aboard 'Nomad,' Kempsey. Why did you leave me to rot?»
«Sweet Jesus help me! Christ, deliver me!»
«I'll deliver you, Kempsey, if you answer questions. Why did you leave me to rot?»
«Couldn't pick you up.»
«Why not?»
«Reffs aboard.»
«Oh? I guessed right, then. You were running refugees in from Callisto?»
«Yes.»
«How many?»
«Six hundred.»
«That's a lot, but you could have made room for one more. Why didn't you pick me up?»
«We were scuttling the reffs.»
«What!» Foyle cried.
«Overboard. . . all of them. . . six hundred. . . Stripped 'em. . . took their clothes, money, jewels, baggage . . . Put 'em through the airlock in batches. Christ! The clothes all over the ship . . . The shrieking and the…Jesus! If I could only forget! The naked women . . . blue. . . busting wide open . . spinning behind us . . . The clothes all over the ship . . . Six hundred. . . Scuttled!»
«You son of a bitch! It was a racket? You took their money and never intended bringing them to earth?»
«It was a racket.»
«And that's why you didn't pick me up?»
«Would have had to scuttle you anyway.»
«Who gave the order?»
«Captain.»
«Name?»
«Joyce. Lindsey Joyce.»
«Address?»
«Skoptsy Colony, Mars.»
«What!» Foyle was thunderstruck. «He's a Skoptsy? You mean after hunting him for a year, I can't touch him. . . hurt him. . .