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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 41 из 164That bomb you threw in the Presteign shipyards was lovely, and you nearly wrecked General Hospital getting the money and material together.» Dagenham counted fingers. «You looted lockers, stole from the blind ward, stole drugs from the pharmacy, stole apparatus from the lab stockrooms.»
«Go to hell, you.»
«But what have you got against Presteign? Why'd you try to blow up his shipyard? They tell me you broke in and went tearing through the pits like a wild man. What were you trying to do, Foyle?»
«Go to hell.»
Dagenham smiled. «If we're going to chat,» he said. «You'll have to hold up your end. Your conversation's getting monotonous. What happened to 'Nomad'?»
«I don't know about 'Nomad,' nothing.»
«The ship was last reported over seven months ago. Are you the sole survivor? And what have you been doing all this time? Having your face decorated?»
«I don't know about 'Nomad,' nothing.»
«No, no, Foyle, that won't do. You show up with 'Nomad' tattooed across your face. Fresh tattooed. Intelligence checks and finds you were aboard 'Nomad' when she sailed. Foyle, Gulliver: AS :i z8/i 27 :oo6, Mechanic's Mate, 3rd Class. As if all this isn't enough to throw Intelligence into a tizzy, you come back in a private launch that's been missing fifty years. Man, you're cooking in the reactor. Intelligence wants the answers to all these questions. And you ought to know how Central Intelligence butchers its answers out of people.»
Foyle started. Dagenham nodded as he saw his point sink home. «Which is why I think you'll listen to reason. We want information, Foyle. I tried to trick it out of you; admitted. I failed because you're too tough; admitted. Now I'm offering an honest deal. We'll protect you if you'll cooperate. If you don't, you'll spend five years in an Intelligence lab having information chopped out of you.»
It was not the prospect of the butchery that frightened Foyle, but the~ thought of the loss of freedom. A man had to be free to avenge himself, to raise money and find «Vorga» again, to rip and tear and gut «VORGA.»
«What kind of deal?» he asked.
«Tell us what happened to 'Nomad' and where you left her.»
«Why, man?»
«Why? Because of the salvage, man.»
«There ain't nothing to salvage.. She's a wreck, is all.».
«Even a wreck's salvagable.»
«You mean you'd jet out a million miles to pick up pieces? Don't joker~ me, man.»
«All right,» Dagenham said in exasperation. «There's the cargo.»
«She was split wide open. No cargo left.
«Go to hell, you.»
«But what have you got against Presteign? Why'd you try to blow up his shipyard? They tell me you broke in and went tearing through the pits like a wild man. What were you trying to do, Foyle?»
«Go to hell.»
Dagenham smiled. «If we're going to chat,» he said. «You'll have to hold up your end. Your conversation's getting monotonous. What happened to 'Nomad'?»
«I don't know about 'Nomad,' nothing.»
«The ship was last reported over seven months ago. Are you the sole survivor? And what have you been doing all this time? Having your face decorated?»
«I don't know about 'Nomad,' nothing.»
«No, no, Foyle, that won't do. You show up with 'Nomad' tattooed across your face. Fresh tattooed. Intelligence checks and finds you were aboard 'Nomad' when she sailed. Foyle, Gulliver: AS :i z8/i 27 :oo6, Mechanic's Mate, 3rd Class. As if all this isn't enough to throw Intelligence into a tizzy, you come back in a private launch that's been missing fifty years. Man, you're cooking in the reactor. Intelligence wants the answers to all these questions. And you ought to know how Central Intelligence butchers its answers out of people.»
Foyle started. Dagenham nodded as he saw his point sink home. «Which is why I think you'll listen to reason. We want information, Foyle. I tried to trick it out of you; admitted. I failed because you're too tough; admitted. Now I'm offering an honest deal. We'll protect you if you'll cooperate. If you don't, you'll spend five years in an Intelligence lab having information chopped out of you.»
It was not the prospect of the butchery that frightened Foyle, but the~ thought of the loss of freedom. A man had to be free to avenge himself, to raise money and find «Vorga» again, to rip and tear and gut «VORGA.»
«What kind of deal?» he asked.
«Tell us what happened to 'Nomad' and where you left her.»
«Why, man?»
«Why? Because of the salvage, man.»
«There ain't nothing to salvage.. She's a wreck, is all.».
«Even a wreck's salvagable.»
«You mean you'd jet out a million miles to pick up pieces? Don't joker~ me, man.»
«All right,» Dagenham said in exasperation. «There's the cargo.»
«She was split wide open. No cargo left.