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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 15 из 164The hundred-yard hull of an old ore carrier formed the room, and one wall had been entirely fitted with salvaged windows . . . round ports, square ports, diamond, hexagonal . . . every shape and age of port had been introduced until the vast wall was a crazy quilt of glass and light.
The distant sun blazed through; the air was hot and moist. Foyle gazed around dimly. A devil face peered at him. Cheeks, chin, nose, and eyelids were hideously tattooed like an ancient Maori mask. Across the brow was tattooed JOSEPH. The «0» in JOSEPH had a tiny arrow thrust up from the right shoulder, turning it into the symbol of Mars, used by scientists to designate male sex.
«We are the Scientific Race,» Joseph said. «I am Joseph; these are my people.»
He gestured. Foyle gazed at the grinning crowd surrounding his litter. All faces were tattooed into devil masks; all brows had names blazoned across them.
«How long did you drift?» Joseph asked.
«Vorga,» Foyle mumbled.
«You are the first to arrive alive in fifty years. You are a puissant man. Very. Arrival of the fittest is the doctrine of Holy Darwin. Most scientific.»
«Quant Suff I» the crowd bellowed.
Joseph seized Foyle's elbow in the manner of a physician taking a pulse. His devil mouth counted solemnly up to ninety-eight.
«Your pulse. Ninety-eight-point-six,» Joseph said, producing a thermometer and shaking it reverently. «Most scientific.»
«Quant Suff!» came the chorus.
Joseph proffered an Erlenmeyer flask. It was labeled: Lung, Cat, c.s., hematoxylin amp; eosin. «Vitamin?» Joseph inquired.
When Foyle did not respond, Joseph removed a large pill from the flask, placed it in the bowl of a pipe, and lit it. He puffed once and then gestured. Three girls appeared before Foyle. Their faces were hideously tattooed. Across each brow was a name: JOAN and MOIRA and POLLX. The «0» of each name had a tiny cross at the base.
«Choose.» Joseph said. «The Scientific People practice Natural Selection. Be scientific in your choice. Be genetic.»
As Foyle fainted again, his arm slid off the litter and glanced against Moira.
«Quant Suff I»
He was in a circular hall with a domed roof. The hail was filled with rusting antique apparatus: a centrifuge, an operating table, a wrecked fluoroscope, autoclaves, cases of corroded surgical instruments.
They strapped Foyle down on the operating table while he raved and rambled. They fed him. They shaved and bathed him. Two men began turning the ancient centrifuge by hand. It emitted a rhythmic clanking like the pounding of a war drum. Those assembled began tramping and chanting.
The distant sun blazed through; the air was hot and moist. Foyle gazed around dimly. A devil face peered at him. Cheeks, chin, nose, and eyelids were hideously tattooed like an ancient Maori mask. Across the brow was tattooed JOSEPH. The «0» in JOSEPH had a tiny arrow thrust up from the right shoulder, turning it into the symbol of Mars, used by scientists to designate male sex.
«We are the Scientific Race,» Joseph said. «I am Joseph; these are my people.»
He gestured. Foyle gazed at the grinning crowd surrounding his litter. All faces were tattooed into devil masks; all brows had names blazoned across them.
«How long did you drift?» Joseph asked.
«Vorga,» Foyle mumbled.
«You are the first to arrive alive in fifty years. You are a puissant man. Very. Arrival of the fittest is the doctrine of Holy Darwin. Most scientific.»
«Quant Suff I» the crowd bellowed.
Joseph seized Foyle's elbow in the manner of a physician taking a pulse. His devil mouth counted solemnly up to ninety-eight.
«Your pulse. Ninety-eight-point-six,» Joseph said, producing a thermometer and shaking it reverently. «Most scientific.»
«Quant Suff!» came the chorus.
Joseph proffered an Erlenmeyer flask. It was labeled: Lung, Cat, c.s., hematoxylin amp; eosin. «Vitamin?» Joseph inquired.
When Foyle did not respond, Joseph removed a large pill from the flask, placed it in the bowl of a pipe, and lit it. He puffed once and then gestured. Three girls appeared before Foyle. Their faces were hideously tattooed. Across each brow was a name: JOAN and MOIRA and POLLX. The «0» of each name had a tiny cross at the base.
«Choose.» Joseph said. «The Scientific People practice Natural Selection. Be scientific in your choice. Be genetic.»
As Foyle fainted again, his arm slid off the litter and glanced against Moira.
«Quant Suff I»
He was in a circular hall with a domed roof. The hail was filled with rusting antique apparatus: a centrifuge, an operating table, a wrecked fluoroscope, autoclaves, cases of corroded surgical instruments.
They strapped Foyle down on the operating table while he raved and rambled. They fed him. They shaved and bathed him. Two men began turning the ancient centrifuge by hand. It emitted a rhythmic clanking like the pounding of a war drum. Those assembled began tramping and chanting.