"Harry Harrison - Deathworld 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

‘Deceit for the deceitful,” the snapping-turtle mouth bit out. “Had there been any other way to capture you, I would have used it. But considering your reputation as a ruthless killer, and the undoubted fact that you have friends on Pyrrus, I took you in the only manner possible.”
“Very noble of you, I’m sure.” Jason was getting angry at the other’s uncompromising self-righteousness. “The end justifies the means and all that—not exactly an original argument. But I walked in with my eyes open and I’m not complaining.” Not much, he thought bitterly. The next best thing to kicking this crumb around the block would be kicking himself for being so stupid. “But if it’s not asking too much, would you mind telling me who you are and just why you have gone to all this trouble to obtain my undernourished body.”
“I am Mikah Samon. I am returning you to Cassylia for trial and sentencing.”
“Cassylia—I thought I recognized the identification on this ship. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that they are still interested in finding me. But you ought to know that there is very little remaining
of the three billion, seventeen million credits that I won from your casino.”
“Cassylia does not want the money back,” Mikah~ said as he locked the controls and swung about in his chair. “They do not want you back either~ since you are their planetary hero now. When you escaped with your ill-gotten gains they realized thзit they would never see the money again. So they put their propaganda mills to work and you are now known throughout all the adjoining star systems as ‘Jason ThreeBillion,’ the living proof of the honesty of their dishonest games, and a lure for all the weak in spirit. You tempt them into gambling for money instead of working honestly for it.”
“Pardon me for being slow-witted today,” Jason said, shaking his head rapidly to loosen up the stuck synapses. “I’m having a little difficulty in following you. What kind of a policeman are you, to arrest me for trial after the charges have been dropped?”
“I am not a policeman,” Mikah said sternly, his long fingers woven tightly together before him, his eyes wide and penetrating. “I am a believer in Truth—nothing more. The corrupt politicians who control Cassylia have placed you on a pedestal of honor. Honoring you, another and—if possible—a more corrupt man, and behind your image they have waxed fat. But I am going to use the Truth to destroy that image, and when I destroy the image I shall destroy the evil that produced it.”
“That’s a tall order for one man,” Jason said calmly—more calmly than he really felt. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“There is of course no tobacco or spirits on this ship. And I am more than one man—I have followers. The Truth Party is already a power to be reckoned with. We have spent much time and energy in tracking you down, but it was worth it. We have followed your dishonest trail into the past, to Mahaut’s Planet, to the Nebula Casino on Galipto, through a series of sordid crimes that turn an honest man’s stomach. We have warrants for your arrest from each of these places, in some cases even the results of trials and your death sentence.”
“I suppose it doesn’t bother your sense of legality that those trials were all held in my absence?” Jason asked. “Or that I have only fleeced casinos and gamblers—who make their living by fleecing suckers?”
Mikah Samon wiped away this consideration with a wave of his hand. “You have been proved guilty of a number of crimes. No amount of wriggling on the hook can change that. You should be thankful that your revolting record will have a good use in the end. It will be the lever with which we shall topple the grafting government of Cassylia.”
“I’m going to have to do something about that curiosity of mine,” Jason said. “Look at me now”— He rattled his wrists in their restraining bands and the servo motors whined a bit as the detector unit came to life and tightened the grasp of the cuffs, limiting his movement. “A little while ago I was enjoying my health and freedom when they called me to talk to you on the radio. Then, instead of letting you plow into the side of a hill, I guide you in for a landing, and can’t resist the impulse to poke my stupid head into your baited trap. I’m going to have to learn to fight those impulses.”
“If that is supposed to be a plea for mercy, it is sickening,” Mikah said. “I have never taken favors, nor do I owe anything to men of your type. Nor will I ever.”
“Ever, like never, is a long rime,” Jason said very quietly. “I wish I had your peace of mind about the sure order of things.”
“Your remark shows that there might be hope for you yet. You might be able to recognize the Truth before you die. I will help you, talk to you, and explain.”
“Better the execution,” Jason said chokingly.






2
“Are you going to feed me by hand—or unlock my wrists while I eat?” Jason asked. Mikah stood over him with the tray, undecided. Jason gave a verbal prod, very gently, because whatever else he was, Mikah was not stupid. “I would prefer you to feed me, of course—you’d make an excellent body servant.”
“You are capable of eating by yourself,” Mikah responded instantly, sliding the tray into the slots of Jason’s chair. “But you will have to do it with only one hand, since if you were freed you would only cause trouble.” He touched the control on the back of the chair and the right wrist lock snapped open. Jason stretched his cramped fingers and picked up the fork.
While he ate, Jason’s eyes were busy. Not obviously, for a gambler’s attention is never obvious, but many things can be seen if you keep your eyes open and your attention apparently elsewhere: a sudden glimpse of someone’s cards, the slight change of expression that reveals
a player’s strength. Item by item, his seemingly random glance touched the contents of the cabin. Control console, screens, computer, chart screen, jump control, chart case, bookshelf. Everyt~ting was observed, considered, and remembered. Some combination of them would fit into the plan.
So far, all he had was the beginning and the end of an idea. Beginning: He was a prisoner in this ship, on his way back to Cassylia. End:
He was not going to remain a prisoner—nor return to Cassylia. Now all that was missing was the vital middle. The end seemed impossible at the moment, but Jason never considered that it couldn’t be done. He operated on the principle that you made your own luck. You kept your eyes open as things evolved, and at the right moment you acted. If you acted fast enough, that was good luck. If you worried over the possibilities until the moment had passed, that was bad luck.
He pushed the empty plate away and stirred sugar into his cup. Mikah had eaten sparingly and was now starting on his second cup of tea. His eyes were fixed, unfocused in thought as he drank. He started slightly when Jason spoke to him.
“Since you don’t stock cigarettes on this ship, how about letting me smoke my own? You’ll have to dig them out for me, since I can’t reach the pocket while I’m chained to this chair.”
“I cannot help you,” Mikah said, not moving. “Tobacco is an irritant, a drug, and a carcinogen. If I gave you a cigarette I would be giving you cancer.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite!” Jason snapped, inwardly pleased at the rewarding flush in the other’s neck. “They’ve taken the cancer-producing agents out of tobacco for centuries now. And if they hadn’t—how does that affect this situation? You’re taidng me to Cassylia to certain death. So why should you concern yourself with the state of my lungs in the future?”
“I had not considered it that way. It is just that there are certain rules of life—”
“Are there?” Jason broke in, keeping the initiative and the advantage. “Not as many as you like to think. And you people who are always dreaming up the rules never carry your thinking far enough. You are against drugs. Which drugs? What about the tannic acid in that tea you’re drinking? Or the caffeine in it? It’s loaded with caffeine—a drug that is both a strong stimulant and a diuretic. That’s why you won’t find tea in spacesuit canteens. That’s a case of a drug forbidden for a good reason. Can you justify your cigarette ban the same way?”
Mikah was about to speak, then thought for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. I am tired, and it is not important.” He warily took the ciga
rette case from Jason’s pocket and dropped it onto the tray. Jason didn’t attempt to interfere. Mikah poured himself a third cup of tea with a slightly apologetic air.
“You must excuse me, Jason, for attempting to make you conform to my own standards. When you are in pursuit of the big Truths, you sometimes let the little Truths slip. I am not intolerant, but I do tend to expect everyone else to live up to certain criteria I have ~et for myself. Humility is something we should never forget, and I thank you for reminding me of it. The search for Truth is hard.”
“There is no Truth,” Jason told him, the anger and insult gone now from his voice, since he wanted to keep his captor involved in the conversation. Involved enough to forget about the free wrist for a while. He raised the cup to his lips and let the tea touch his lips without drinking any. The half-full cup supplied an unconsidered reason for his free hand.
“No Truth?” Mikah weighed the thought. “You can’t possibly mean that. The galaxy is filled with Truth; it’s the touchstone of Life itself. It’s the thing that separates Mankind from the animals.”
“There is no Truth, no Life, no Mankind. At least not the way you spell them—with capital letters. They don’t exist.”
Mikah’s taut skin contracted into a furrow of concentration. “You will have to explain yourself,” he said. “For you are not being clear.”
“I’m afraid it’s you who aren’t being clear. You’re making a reality where none exists. Truth—with a small t—is a description, a relationship. A way to describe a statement. A semantic tool. But Truth with a capital T is an imaginary word, a noise with no meaning. It pretends to be a noun, but it has no referent. It stands for nothing. It means nothing. When you say, ‘I believe in Truth,’ you are really saying, ‘I believe in nothing.”
“You are incredibly wrong!” Mikah said, leaning forward, stabbing with his finger. “Truth is a philosophical abstraction, one of the tools that our minds have used to raise us above the beasts—the proof that we are not beasts ourselves, but a higher order of creation. Beasts can be true—but they cannot know Truth. Beasts can see, but they cannot see Beauty.”
“Arrgh!” Jason growled. “It’s impossible to talk to you, much less enjoy any comprehensible exchange of ideas. We aren’t even speaking the same language. Forgetting for the moment who is right and who is wrong, we should go back to basics and at least agree on the meaning of the terms that we are using. To begin with—can you define the dif
ference between ethics and ethos?” ~
“Of course,” Mikah snapped, a glint of pleasure in his eyes at the thought of a good rousing round of hairsplitting. “Ethics is the discipline dealing with what is good or bad, or right and wrong-or with moral duty and obligation; Ethos means the guiding beliefs, standards, or ideals that characterize a group or community.”
“Very good. I can see that you have been spending the long spaceship nights with your nose buried in the books. Now make sure the difference between those two terms is very clear, because it is the heart of the little communication problem we have here. Ethos is inextricably linked with a single society and cannot be separated from it, or it loses all meaning. Do you agree?”
“Well. .