"Randall Garrett - Backstage Lensman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Garrett Randall)

seek.”
“A cogent report indeed,” Meichfrite complimented. “Next, the report of Meichron,
Third of this Council.”
“As a psychologist,” Meichron replied, “I feel that there is an equal probability that
the agent whom we seek is one whose physical makeup is akin to ours, rather than to
that of the fire-blooded, oxygen-breathing Tellurians. Perhaps one of the immoral
Palanians, who emmfoze in public.”
“That, too, must be considered,” Meichfrite noted. “Now to Meichrotch, Fourth of
the Meich...”
And so it went, through member after member of that dark Council. How they
arrived at any decision whatever is starkly unknowable to the human mind.


On green, warm Tellus, many mega parsecs from the black cloud which enveloped
the eternally and infernally frigid planet of the Meich, Lensman Gimble Ginnison,
having been released from the hospital at Prime Base, was talking to Surgeon-Major
Macy, who had just given him his final checkup.
“How am I, Doc?” he asked respectfully, “QX for duty?”
Well, you were in pretty bad shape when you came in,” the Lensman surgeon said
thoughtfully. “We almost had to clone you to keep you around, son. Those Axlemen
really shot you up.”
“Check. But how am I now?”
The older Lensman looked at the sheaf of charts, films, tapes, and reports on his
desk. “Mmm. Your skeleton seems in good shape, but I wonder about the rest of
you. The most beautiful nurses in the Service attended you during your
convalescence, and you never made a pass-never even patted a fanny.”
“Gosh,” Ginnison flushed hotly, “was I expected to?”
“Not by me,” the older man said cryptically.
“Well, am I QX for duty? I have to do a flit.”
Surgeon-Major Macy handed Ginnison an envelope. ”Take this to the Starboard
Admiral’s office. He’ll let you know. Where are you flitting for?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Ginnison said evasively, taking the envelope.
“Right. Clear ether, Gimble.”
“Clear ether, Macy.”
True to an old tradition, these two friends never told each other anything.


The Starboard Admiral slit open the envelope and took in its contents at a glance.
“According to Macy, you’re fit for duty, son. Congratulations. And, in spite of
everything, that was a right smart piece of work you did on Mulligans II.”
Ginnison looked at the tips of his polished boots. “Gee whiz,” he said, blushing.
Then, looking up: “If I’m fit for duty, sir, I’d like to make a request. That mess on
Cadilax needs to be cleaned up. I’m ready to try it, sir, and I await your orders.”
The Starboard Admiral looked up into the gray eyes of the young, handsome,
broad-shouldered, lean, lithe, tough, hard, finely-trained, well-muscled, stubborn,
powerful man who stood before him.
“Gim,” he said firmly, “You have disobeyed every order I have ever given you. It
always came out all right, so I can’t gripe, but, as of now, I’m getting out from
under. I’ve talked to the Galactic Council, and they agree. We are giving you your
Release.”