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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
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«Here I go, me,» Foyle whispered. «Blue Jaunte.»
«Foyle, listen to me. Forget the Blue Jaunte. Don't throw this away. It's a miracle.»
«What's a miracle?»
«There's an acoustical freak in Gouffre Martel . . . they happen in underground caves . . . a freak of echoes, passages and whispering galleries. Old-timers call it the Whisper Line. I never believed them. No one ever did, but it's true. We're talking to each other over the Whisper Line. No one can hear us but us. We can talk, Foyle. We can plan. Maybe we can escape.»
Her name was Jisbella McQueen. She was hot-tempered, independent, intelligent, and she was serving five years of cure in Gouffre Martel for larceny. Jisbella gave Foyle a cheerfully furious account of her revolt against society.
«You don't know what jaunting's done to women, Gully. It's locked us up, sent us back to the seraglio.»
«What's seraglio, girl?»
«A harem. A place where women are kept on ice. After ~ thousand years of civilization (it says here) we're still property. Jaunting's such a danger to our virtue, our value, our mint condition, that we're locked up like gold plate in a safe. There's nothing for us to do . . . nothing respectable. No jobs. No careers. There's no getting out, Gully, unless you bust out and smash all the rules.»
«Did you have to, Jiz?»
«I had to be independent, Gully. I had to live my own life, and that's the only way society would let me. So I ran away from home and turned crook.» And Jiz went on to describe the lurid details of her revolt: the Temper Racket, the Cataract Racket, the Honeymoon and Obituary Robs, the Badger Jaunte, and the Glim-Drop.
Foyle told her about «Nomad» and «Vorga,» his hatred and his plans. He did not tell Jisbella about his face or the twenty millions in platinum bullion waiting out in the asteroids.
«What happened to 'Nomad'?» Jisbella asked. «Was it like that man, Dagenham, said? Was she blasted by an O.S. raider?»
«I don't know, me. Can't remember, girl.»
«The blast probably wiped out your memory. Shock. And being marooned for six months didn't help. Did you notice anything worth salvaging from 'Nomad'?
«Did Dagenham mention anything?»
«No,» Foyle lied.
«Then he must have another reason for hounding you into Goufire Martel. There must be something else he wants from 'Nomad.'»
«Yeah, Jiz.»
«But you were a fool trying to blow up 'Vorga' like that. You're like a wild beast trying to punish the trap that injured it. Steel isn't alive. It doesn't think.
«Here I go, me,» Foyle whispered. «Blue Jaunte.»
«Foyle, listen to me. Forget the Blue Jaunte. Don't throw this away. It's a miracle.»
«What's a miracle?»
«There's an acoustical freak in Gouffre Martel . . . they happen in underground caves . . . a freak of echoes, passages and whispering galleries. Old-timers call it the Whisper Line. I never believed them. No one ever did, but it's true. We're talking to each other over the Whisper Line. No one can hear us but us. We can talk, Foyle. We can plan. Maybe we can escape.»
Her name was Jisbella McQueen. She was hot-tempered, independent, intelligent, and she was serving five years of cure in Gouffre Martel for larceny. Jisbella gave Foyle a cheerfully furious account of her revolt against society.
«You don't know what jaunting's done to women, Gully. It's locked us up, sent us back to the seraglio.»
«What's seraglio, girl?»
«A harem. A place where women are kept on ice. After ~ thousand years of civilization (it says here) we're still property. Jaunting's such a danger to our virtue, our value, our mint condition, that we're locked up like gold plate in a safe. There's nothing for us to do . . . nothing respectable. No jobs. No careers. There's no getting out, Gully, unless you bust out and smash all the rules.»
«Did you have to, Jiz?»
«I had to be independent, Gully. I had to live my own life, and that's the only way society would let me. So I ran away from home and turned crook.» And Jiz went on to describe the lurid details of her revolt: the Temper Racket, the Cataract Racket, the Honeymoon and Obituary Robs, the Badger Jaunte, and the Glim-Drop.
Foyle told her about «Nomad» and «Vorga,» his hatred and his plans. He did not tell Jisbella about his face or the twenty millions in platinum bullion waiting out in the asteroids.
«What happened to 'Nomad'?» Jisbella asked. «Was it like that man, Dagenham, said? Was she blasted by an O.S. raider?»
«I don't know, me. Can't remember, girl.»
«The blast probably wiped out your memory. Shock. And being marooned for six months didn't help. Did you notice anything worth salvaging from 'Nomad'?
«Did Dagenham mention anything?»
«No,» Foyle lied.
«Then he must have another reason for hounding you into Goufire Martel. There must be something else he wants from 'Nomad.'»
«Yeah, Jiz.»
«But you were a fool trying to blow up 'Vorga' like that. You're like a wild beast trying to punish the trap that injured it. Steel isn't alive. It doesn't think.