JК
World Of Ptavvs :: Нивен Ларри
Страница: 99 из 127Number Four was useless, her tank clogged with dirt.
"We'll be three days late for whatever happens," Woody said glumly. "Why go at all?"
"We can stay close enough for radio contact," Smoky argued. "I'd like to have Garner close enough to tell the fleet what to do. He knows more about these Bug Eyed Monsters than any of us."
Luke said, "Main argument is that it may take the fleet three days to lose. Then we get there and save the day. Or we don't. Let's go."
Woody Atwood masered the fleet immediately, knowing that the others could not intercept the conversation. If they had moved into the maser beam their radio would have blown sky high.
"Matchsticks!" Kzanol's voice dripped with Thrintun contempt. "We might just as well be playing Patience." It was a strange thing to say, considering that he was losing.
"Tell you what," Kzanol/Greenberg suggested. "We could divide the Earth up now and play for people. We'd get about eight billion each to play with, with a few left over. In fact, we could agree right now that the Earth should be divided by two north-south great circle lines, leave it at that 'til we get back with the amplifier, and play with eight billion apiece."
"Sounds all right. Why north-south?"
"So we each get all the choices of climate there are. Why not?"
"Agreed." Kzanol dealt two cards face down and one up.
"Seven stud," announced the pilot.
"Fold," said Kzanol/Greenberg, and watched Kzanol snarl and rake in the antes. "We should have brought Masney," he said. "It might be dangerous, not having a pilot."
"So? Assume I'd brought Masney. How would you feel, watching me operate your former slave?"
"Lousy." In point of fact, he now saw that Kzanol had shown rare tact in leaving Masney behind. Lloyd was a used slave, one who had been owned by another. Tradition almost demanded his death, and certainly decreed that he must never be owned by a self-respecting thrint, though he might be given to a beggar.
"Five stud," said the pilot. He sat where he could see neither hand, ready to wrap his human tongue around human, untranslatable poker slang when Kzanol wished to speak, and ready to translate for Kzanol/Greenberg. Kzanol dealt one up, one down.
'That's funny," said Kzanol/Greenberg. "I almost remembered something, but then it slipped away."
"Open your mind and I'll tell you what it was."
"No. It's in English anyway. From the Greenberg memories." He clutched his head. "What is it? It seems so damned appropriate. Something about Masney."
"Play.
"We'll be three days late for whatever happens," Woody said glumly. "Why go at all?"
"We can stay close enough for radio contact," Smoky argued. "I'd like to have Garner close enough to tell the fleet what to do. He knows more about these Bug Eyed Monsters than any of us."
Luke said, "Main argument is that it may take the fleet three days to lose. Then we get there and save the day. Or we don't. Let's go."
Woody Atwood masered the fleet immediately, knowing that the others could not intercept the conversation. If they had moved into the maser beam their radio would have blown sky high.
"Matchsticks!" Kzanol's voice dripped with Thrintun contempt. "We might just as well be playing Patience." It was a strange thing to say, considering that he was losing.
"Tell you what," Kzanol/Greenberg suggested. "We could divide the Earth up now and play for people. We'd get about eight billion each to play with, with a few left over. In fact, we could agree right now that the Earth should be divided by two north-south great circle lines, leave it at that 'til we get back with the amplifier, and play with eight billion apiece."
"Sounds all right. Why north-south?"
"So we each get all the choices of climate there are. Why not?"
"Agreed." Kzanol dealt two cards face down and one up.
"Seven stud," announced the pilot.
"Fold," said Kzanol/Greenberg, and watched Kzanol snarl and rake in the antes. "We should have brought Masney," he said. "It might be dangerous, not having a pilot."
"So? Assume I'd brought Masney. How would you feel, watching me operate your former slave?"
"Lousy." In point of fact, he now saw that Kzanol had shown rare tact in leaving Masney behind. Lloyd was a used slave, one who had been owned by another. Tradition almost demanded his death, and certainly decreed that he must never be owned by a self-respecting thrint, though he might be given to a beggar.
"Five stud," said the pilot. He sat where he could see neither hand, ready to wrap his human tongue around human, untranslatable poker slang when Kzanol wished to speak, and ready to translate for Kzanol/Greenberg. Kzanol dealt one up, one down.
'That's funny," said Kzanol/Greenberg. "I almost remembered something, but then it slipped away."
"Open your mind and I'll tell you what it was."
"No. It's in English anyway. From the Greenberg memories." He clutched his head. "What is it? It seems so damned appropriate. Something about Masney."
"Play.