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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 98 из 164Then I discovered the secret,the Salutiferous Abstersive which . . .»
Foyle touched his tongue to the switchboard wired into the nerve endings of his teeth. He accelerated. He arose without haste, stepped to the slow. motion figure «Bloo-hwoo-fwaa-mawwing» behind the desk, took out a heavy sap, and scientifically smote Orel across the brow, concussing the frontal lobes and stunning the jaunte center. He picked the quack up and strapped him into the electric chair. All this took approximately five seconds. To Robin Wednesbury it was a blur of motion.
Foyle decelerated. The quack opened his eyes, stirred, discovered where he was, and started in anger and perplexity.
«You're Sergei Orel, pharmacist's mate off the 'Vorga',» Foyle said quietly. «You were aboard the 'Vorga' on September 16, 2436.»
The anger and perplexity turned to terror.
«On September sixteen you passed a wreck. Out near the asteroid belt. It was the wreck of the 'Nomad.' She signaled for help and 'Vorga' passed her by. You left her to drift and die. Why?»
Orel rolled his eyes but did not answer.
«Who gave the order to pass me by? Who was willing to let me rot and die?»
Orel began to gibber.
«Who was aboard 'Vorga'? Who shipped with you? Who was in command? I'm going to get an answer. Don't think I'm not,» Foyle said with calm ferocity. «I'll buy it or tear it out of you. Why was I left to die? Who told you to let me die?»
Orel screamed. «I can't talk abou…Wait I'll tell…” He sagged.
Foyle examined the body.
«Dead,» he muttered. «Just when he was ready to talk. Just like Forrest.»
«Murdered.»
«No. I never touched him. It was suicide.» Foyle cackled without humor. «You're insane.»
«No, amused. I didn't kill them; I forced them to kill themselves.»
«What nonsense is this?»
«They've been given Sympathetic Blocks. You know about SBs, girl? Intelligence uses them for espionage agents. Take a certain body of information you don't want told. Link it with the sympathetic nervous system that controls automatic respiration and heart beat. As soon as the subject tries to reveal that information, the block comes down, the heart and lungs stop, the man dies, your secret's kept. An agent doesn't have to worry about killing himself to avoid torture; it's been done for him.»
«It was done to these men?»
«Obviously.»
«But why?»
«How do I know? Refugee running isn't the answer. 'Vorga' must have been operating worse rackets than that to take this precaution.
Foyle touched his tongue to the switchboard wired into the nerve endings of his teeth. He accelerated. He arose without haste, stepped to the slow. motion figure «Bloo-hwoo-fwaa-mawwing» behind the desk, took out a heavy sap, and scientifically smote Orel across the brow, concussing the frontal lobes and stunning the jaunte center. He picked the quack up and strapped him into the electric chair. All this took approximately five seconds. To Robin Wednesbury it was a blur of motion.
Foyle decelerated. The quack opened his eyes, stirred, discovered where he was, and started in anger and perplexity.
«You're Sergei Orel, pharmacist's mate off the 'Vorga',» Foyle said quietly. «You were aboard the 'Vorga' on September 16, 2436.»
The anger and perplexity turned to terror.
«On September sixteen you passed a wreck. Out near the asteroid belt. It was the wreck of the 'Nomad.' She signaled for help and 'Vorga' passed her by. You left her to drift and die. Why?»
Orel rolled his eyes but did not answer.
«Who gave the order to pass me by? Who was willing to let me rot and die?»
Orel began to gibber.
«Who was aboard 'Vorga'? Who shipped with you? Who was in command? I'm going to get an answer. Don't think I'm not,» Foyle said with calm ferocity. «I'll buy it or tear it out of you. Why was I left to die? Who told you to let me die?»
Orel screamed. «I can't talk abou…Wait I'll tell…” He sagged.
Foyle examined the body.
«Dead,» he muttered. «Just when he was ready to talk. Just like Forrest.»
«Murdered.»
«No. I never touched him. It was suicide.» Foyle cackled without humor. «You're insane.»
«No, amused. I didn't kill them; I forced them to kill themselves.»
«What nonsense is this?»
«They've been given Sympathetic Blocks. You know about SBs, girl? Intelligence uses them for espionage agents. Take a certain body of information you don't want told. Link it with the sympathetic nervous system that controls automatic respiration and heart beat. As soon as the subject tries to reveal that information, the block comes down, the heart and lungs stop, the man dies, your secret's kept. An agent doesn't have to worry about killing himself to avoid torture; it's been done for him.»
«It was done to these men?»
«Obviously.»
«But why?»
«How do I know? Refugee running isn't the answer. 'Vorga' must have been operating worse rackets than that to take this precaution.