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.Fife chuckled. You are wondering which of you can be X.One of you knows, besure of that.And in twenty-four hours we shall all know.Now keep in mind,gentlemen, that you are all quite helpless.The ships of war are mine.Goodday! His gesture was one of dismissal.One by one they went out, like stars in the depths of the vac-uum beingblotted out on the visiplate by the passing and un-seen bulk of a wreckedspaceship.Steen was the last to leave. Fife, he said tremulously.Page 79 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlFife looked up. Yes? You wish to confess now that we two are alone? You areSteen s face twisted in wild alarm. No, no.Really.I just wanted to ask ifyou re really serious.I mean, continental au-tonomy and all that.Really? Fife stared at the old chronometer in the wall. Good day. Steen whimpered.His hand went up to the contact switch and he, too,disappeared.Fife sat there, stony and unmoving.With the conference over, the heat of thecrisis gone, depression seized him.His lipless mouth was a severe gash in his large face.All calculations began with this fact: that the Spatio-analyst was mad, therewas no doom.But over a madman, so much had taken place.Would Junz ofthe I.S.B.have spent a year search-ing for a madman? Would he beso unyielding in his chase after fairy stories?Fife had told no one this.He scarcely dared share it with his own soul.Whatif the Spatio-analyst had never been mad? What if destruction dangled over theworld of kyrt?The Florinian secretary glided before the Great Squire, his voice pallid anddry. Sir! WThat is it? The ship with your daughter has landed. The Spatio-analyst and the native woman are safe? Yes, sir. Let there be no questioning in my absence.They are to be held incommunicadountil I arrive.Is there news from.Florina? Yes, sir.The Townman is in custody and is being brought to Sark. 13THE YACHTSMANTUEPORT S LIGHTSbrightened evenly as the twilight deepened.At no time did the over-allillumination vary from that to be ex-pected of a somewhat subdued lateafternoon.At Port 9, as at the other yacht ports of Upper City, itwas daylight throughout Florina s rotation.The brightness might growunusually pro-nounced under the midday sun, but that was the only deviation.Markis Genro could tell that the day proper had passed only because,in passing into the port, he had left the colored night lights of theCity behind him.Those were bright against the blackening sky but they made nopretense of substituting for day.Genro paused just inside the main entrance and seemed in no way impressedby the gigantic horseshoe with its three dozen hangars and five take-offpits.It was part of him, as it was part of any experienced yachtsman.He took a long cigarette, violet in color and tipped with the filmiest touchof silvery kyrt, and put it to his lips.He cupped his palms about the exposedtip and watched it glow to greenish life as he inhaled.It burned slowly andleft no ash.An emerald smoke filtered out his nostrils.He murmured, Business as usual! A member of the yacht committee, in yachting costume, with only a discreet andtasteful lettering above one tunic button to indicate that he was a member ofthe committee, had moved up quickly to meet Genro, carefully avoiding anyappearance of hurry. Ah, Genro! And why not business as usual? Hello, Doty.I only thought that with all this fume and fussPage 80 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlgoing on it might occur to some bright boy to close the ports.Thank Sarkhasn t. itThe committeeman sobered. You know, may come to that.Have you heard thelatest? itGenro grinned. How can you tell the latest from the next-to-the-latest? Well, have you heard that it s definite now about the native? The killer? You mean they ve caught him? I hadn t heard that. No, they haven t caught him.But they know he s not in Lower City! No? Where is he then? Why, in Upper City.Here. Go on. Genro s eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief. No, really, saidthe committeeman, a little hurt, I have it for a fact.The patrollers areswooping up and down Kyrt High-way.They ve got City Park surrounded andthey re using Cen-tral Arena as a co-ordination point.This is all authentic. Well, maybe. Genro s eyes roved carelessly over the han-gared ships. Ihaven t been at g for two months, Ithink.Are there any new ships in the place? No.Well, yes, there s Hjordesse sFlame Arrow. Genro shook his head. I ve seen that.It s all chromium and nothing else.Ihate to think I ll have to end by designing my own. Are you sellingComet VP Selling it or junking it.I m tired of these late models.They re tooautomatic.With their automatic relays and trajectory com-puters, they rekilling the sport. You know, I ve heard others say the same thing, agreed the committeeman. Tell you what.If I hear of an old model in good condition on the market,I ll let you know. Thanks.Mind if I wander about the place? Of course not.Go ahead. The committeeman grinned, waved, trotted away.Genro made his siow rounds, his cigarette, half gone, drooping from one sideof his mouth.He stopped at each occupied han-gar, appraising its contentsshrewdly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Fife chuckled. You are wondering which of you can be X.One of you knows, besure of that.And in twenty-four hours we shall all know.Now keep in mind,gentlemen, that you are all quite helpless.The ships of war are mine.Goodday! His gesture was one of dismissal.One by one they went out, like stars in the depths of the vac-uum beingblotted out on the visiplate by the passing and un-seen bulk of a wreckedspaceship.Steen was the last to leave. Fife, he said tremulously.Page 79 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlFife looked up. Yes? You wish to confess now that we two are alone? You areSteen s face twisted in wild alarm. No, no.Really.I just wanted to ask ifyou re really serious.I mean, continental au-tonomy and all that.Really? Fife stared at the old chronometer in the wall. Good day. Steen whimpered.His hand went up to the contact switch and he, too,disappeared.Fife sat there, stony and unmoving.With the conference over, the heat of thecrisis gone, depression seized him.His lipless mouth was a severe gash in his large face.All calculations began with this fact: that the Spatio-analyst was mad, therewas no doom.But over a madman, so much had taken place.Would Junz ofthe I.S.B.have spent a year search-ing for a madman? Would he beso unyielding in his chase after fairy stories?Fife had told no one this.He scarcely dared share it with his own soul.Whatif the Spatio-analyst had never been mad? What if destruction dangled over theworld of kyrt?The Florinian secretary glided before the Great Squire, his voice pallid anddry. Sir! WThat is it? The ship with your daughter has landed. The Spatio-analyst and the native woman are safe? Yes, sir. Let there be no questioning in my absence.They are to be held incommunicadountil I arrive.Is there news from.Florina? Yes, sir.The Townman is in custody and is being brought to Sark. 13THE YACHTSMANTUEPORT S LIGHTSbrightened evenly as the twilight deepened.At no time did the over-allillumination vary from that to be ex-pected of a somewhat subdued lateafternoon.At Port 9, as at the other yacht ports of Upper City, itwas daylight throughout Florina s rotation.The brightness might growunusually pro-nounced under the midday sun, but that was the only deviation.Markis Genro could tell that the day proper had passed only because,in passing into the port, he had left the colored night lights of theCity behind him.Those were bright against the blackening sky but they made nopretense of substituting for day.Genro paused just inside the main entrance and seemed in no way impressedby the gigantic horseshoe with its three dozen hangars and five take-offpits.It was part of him, as it was part of any experienced yachtsman.He took a long cigarette, violet in color and tipped with the filmiest touchof silvery kyrt, and put it to his lips.He cupped his palms about the exposedtip and watched it glow to greenish life as he inhaled.It burned slowly andleft no ash.An emerald smoke filtered out his nostrils.He murmured, Business as usual! A member of the yacht committee, in yachting costume, with only a discreet andtasteful lettering above one tunic button to indicate that he was a member ofthe committee, had moved up quickly to meet Genro, carefully avoiding anyappearance of hurry. Ah, Genro! And why not business as usual? Hello, Doty.I only thought that with all this fume and fussPage 80 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlgoing on it might occur to some bright boy to close the ports.Thank Sarkhasn t. itThe committeeman sobered. You know, may come to that.Have you heard thelatest? itGenro grinned. How can you tell the latest from the next-to-the-latest? Well, have you heard that it s definite now about the native? The killer? You mean they ve caught him? I hadn t heard that. No, they haven t caught him.But they know he s not in Lower City! No? Where is he then? Why, in Upper City.Here. Go on. Genro s eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief. No, really, saidthe committeeman, a little hurt, I have it for a fact.The patrollers areswooping up and down Kyrt High-way.They ve got City Park surrounded andthey re using Cen-tral Arena as a co-ordination point.This is all authentic. Well, maybe. Genro s eyes roved carelessly over the han-gared ships. Ihaven t been at g for two months, Ithink.Are there any new ships in the place? No.Well, yes, there s Hjordesse sFlame Arrow. Genro shook his head. I ve seen that.It s all chromium and nothing else.Ihate to think I ll have to end by designing my own. Are you sellingComet VP Selling it or junking it.I m tired of these late models.They re tooautomatic.With their automatic relays and trajectory com-puters, they rekilling the sport. You know, I ve heard others say the same thing, agreed the committeeman. Tell you what.If I hear of an old model in good condition on the market,I ll let you know. Thanks.Mind if I wander about the place? Of course not.Go ahead. The committeeman grinned, waved, trotted away.Genro made his siow rounds, his cigarette, half gone, drooping from one sideof his mouth.He stopped at each occupied han-gar, appraising its contentsshrewdly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]