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widened.  Breakfast, to you. The guard ll come fetch you in fifteen minutes. Up,
fellah!
Koskinen crawled from bed as the screen blanked. His clothes were gone, but a
closet wall retracted to show several excellent new outfits. A needle spray forced
some of the stiffness from his muscles. There was no logic to the fact that a green
blouse and gray slacks should cheer him a little. By the time an armed man opened
the door, he was ready and famished.
They took the glideway into the luxury section. He was waved through a door
which closed behind him. Across a soft, tinted floor, he looked at a suite of several
rooms. Some good pictures hung on the walls. The viewall was playing a color
abstraction which was too intellectual for his taste, but he was gladdened to
recognize Mozart on the taper. The furnishings were low-legged, Oriental, centered
about a pedestal that upheld a lovely piece of uncut Lunar crystal. How much had
that cost? he wondered.
The woman sat before a table. A white tunic set off her pale brown skin. She
waved a hand with a cigarette in it. The other held a cocktail.  Sit down, Pete. Her
voice was husky, with a trace of Southern accent. She was a quadroon, he guessed,
and probably part Creole.
 How do you know my name? he asked. Then:  Oh. Sure. Stupid of me,
papers in my wallet.
 And a quick check with the news service, she nodded.  You got a fine
welcome home, didn t you?
He seated himself across the table. A servitor rolled hi and asked nun what he
wanted. He realized that he and the woman were the only humans present though
doubtless the guard waited outside, and there might well be an alarm buzzer or a
tattler mike in her massive silver bracelet.  I...I don t know, he said.  Uh...what
was that thing the other day?...a Tom Coffins.
She grimaced.  You need education, I see. Oh, well, it s your palate.
Smoke?
 No, thanks. He wet his lips.  Wh-wh-what did the news have to say about
me?
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r r
 Not one thing, she answered, looking straight into his eyes.  As far as the
phone or the picture papers know, you re still relaxing at the Von Braun Hotel in
Philly. However, we ve not been able to contact any of your shipmates.
 I know, he said bleakly.  I only hope MS has them, alive. The Chinese killed
Si Twain, you know.
 What? She sat upright.
 It was on the news, he faltered.  Last night.
 It wasn t today, she said.  Today s story said he died in an accident and
anything you heard about a murder was due to a hysterical  The sensuous mouth
grew as harsh as Zigger s.  What s the truth?
He summoned defiance.  Why should I tell you?
Her manner softened again, with the mercurial-ness that had already
bewildered him.  Look, Pete, she said, low and rapidly,  you re caught in
something tremendous. I spent the day making empirical tests on that gadget of
yours. I know a few things it can do, and that alone is enough to drive Zigger wild.
We haven t any mind drugs here, but we do have nerve machines, and even uglier
stuff. No  she raised a slender hand  I m not threatening you. I wouldn t do
such a thing to anybody, for any reason. But Zigger would. I m warning you, Pete.
You ve had the course. There s no choice but to level with...with me, at least.
 If I do, what then? MS won t thank me.
 We can get you away from them, if you really don t think they will forgive you.
The Crater does give value for value received, after its own fashion. Okay, what
happened to Twain?
The servitor brought his drink. He snatched it and drank blindly. The account
stumbled out of him.
She nodded, carefully, struck a fresh cigarette and puffed for a while with her
eyes narrowed in thought. At length:  Yes, obviously last night s account was the
right one, and now MS has clamped a lid on the truth. I begin to see the overall
picture. Your expedition innocently brings this thing back from Mars, never
dreaming what it implies. The men zoom off to their respective homes. They [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]