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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 72 из 164«You said you wished you could carryme in your pocket to stick pins in you when you lose control. You've got something better than that, Gully, or worse, poor darling. You've got your face.»
«No!» he said. «No!»
«You can't ever lose control, Gully. You'll never be able to drink too much, eat too much, love too much, hate too much . . . You'll have to hold yourself with an iron grip.»
«No!» he insisted desperately. «It can be fixed. Baker can do it, or somebody else. I can't walk around afraid to feel anything because it'll turn me into a freak!»
«I don't think this can be fixed, Gully.»
«Skin-graft…”
«No. The scars are too deep for graft. You'll never get rid of this stigmata, Gully. You'll have to learn to live with it.»
Foyle flung the mirror from him in sudden rage, and again the blood-red mask flared up under his skin. He lunged out of the main cabin to the main hatch where he pulled his spacesuit down and began to squirm into it.
«Gully! Where are you going? What are you going to do?»
«Get tools,» he shouted. «Tools for the safe.»
«Where?»
«In the asteroid. They've got dozens of warehouses stuffed with tools from wrecked ships. There have to be drills there, everything I need. Don't come with me. There may be trouble. How is my God damned face now? Showing it? By Christ, I hope there is trouble!»
He corked his suit and went into the asteroid. He found a hatch separating the habited core from the outer void. He banged on the door. He waited and banged again and continued the imperious summons until at last the hatch was opened. Arms reached out and yanked him in, and the hatch was closed behind him. It had no air lock.
He blinked in the light and scowled at Joseph and his innocent people gathering before him, their faces hideously decorated. And he knew that his own face must be flaming red and white for he saw Joseph start, and he saw the devil mouth shape the syllables: NOMAD.
Foyle strode through the crowd, scattering them brutally. He smashed Joseph with a backhand blow from his mailed fist. He searched through the inhabited corridors, recognizing them dimly, and he came at last to the chamber, half natural cave, half antique hull, where the tools were stored.
He rooted and ferreted, gathering up drills, diamond bits, acids, thermites, crystallants, dynamite jellies, fuses. In the gently revolving asteroid the gross weight of the equipment was reduced to less than a hundred pounds. He lumped it into a mass, roughly bound it together with cable, and started out of the store-cave.
«No!» he said. «No!»
«You can't ever lose control, Gully. You'll never be able to drink too much, eat too much, love too much, hate too much . . . You'll have to hold yourself with an iron grip.»
«No!» he insisted desperately. «It can be fixed. Baker can do it, or somebody else. I can't walk around afraid to feel anything because it'll turn me into a freak!»
«I don't think this can be fixed, Gully.»
«Skin-graft…”
«No. The scars are too deep for graft. You'll never get rid of this stigmata, Gully. You'll have to learn to live with it.»
Foyle flung the mirror from him in sudden rage, and again the blood-red mask flared up under his skin. He lunged out of the main cabin to the main hatch where he pulled his spacesuit down and began to squirm into it.
«Gully! Where are you going? What are you going to do?»
«Get tools,» he shouted. «Tools for the safe.»
«Where?»
«In the asteroid. They've got dozens of warehouses stuffed with tools from wrecked ships. There have to be drills there, everything I need. Don't come with me. There may be trouble. How is my God damned face now? Showing it? By Christ, I hope there is trouble!»
He corked his suit and went into the asteroid. He found a hatch separating the habited core from the outer void. He banged on the door. He waited and banged again and continued the imperious summons until at last the hatch was opened. Arms reached out and yanked him in, and the hatch was closed behind him. It had no air lock.
He blinked in the light and scowled at Joseph and his innocent people gathering before him, their faces hideously decorated. And he knew that his own face must be flaming red and white for he saw Joseph start, and he saw the devil mouth shape the syllables: NOMAD.
Foyle strode through the crowd, scattering them brutally. He smashed Joseph with a backhand blow from his mailed fist. He searched through the inhabited corridors, recognizing them dimly, and he came at last to the chamber, half natural cave, half antique hull, where the tools were stored.
He rooted and ferreted, gathering up drills, diamond bits, acids, thermites, crystallants, dynamite jellies, fuses. In the gently revolving asteroid the gross weight of the equipment was reduced to less than a hundred pounds. He lumped it into a mass, roughly bound it together with cable, and started out of the store-cave.