"Murray Leinster - Invaders of Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leinster Murray)

The three trudging figures were very near, below the office. They went out of sight. A
buzzer reported them at the ground-floor door. The operator pressed the door-opening button.
Footsteps sounded, coming up. A scowling red-haired man in soiled garments entered the
office. He carried a walkie-talkie. Two even more soiled men followed him.
"I'm from the Theban," said the red-headed man truculently. "We're in a hurry. We need
some repairs quick. I came to make a deal. How about some action?"
"Maybe you can get the action, come morning," said the operator, "but not earlier."
The red-headed man said, "We want it now. How much?"
"No deal," said the operator. "It's out of the question. And I can't lift you off again after an
emergency landing without a survey of the repairs needed and done. Those are orders."
The red-headed man scowled. He repeated, "How much?"
Horn interposed. "I listened to the communicator while your drive was running. It's an old
Riccardo drive, isn't it?"
The red-haired man stared at him coldly. "Yes. Riccardo. Type VI. What of it?"
"It's pretty old," said Horn mildly. "You should have an engineer aboard. When Riccardo
drives were in use, every ship carried an engineer."
"We've got an engineer," said the red-headed man angrily. "He's no good. He says we need
repairs he can't make."
"Judging by the noise those engines make," said Horn, "he's quite right. My guess would be
that your phase separator is about gone. It's a complicated piece of equipment. It would take a
very good man to do anything with it. If your engineer won't try to patch it, he's got sense.
You'll find that even repair shops would rather work on modern engines. They know them
better."
The red-haired man said truculently, "Who're you, you know so much?"
"His name's Horn," explained the operator. "He's a drive designer. He knows his stuff. Best
man on this planet on space-drive engines."
"Yeah?" The red-headed man looked at Horn with scornful eyes. "What more d'you know?"
"Judging by the engines' sound," said Horn, "your drive probably started acting up three or
four days ago. It made a whining noise. Your engineer may have been able to stop it, but later
it started up again. Probably two days ago it got past adjustment and began to buzz. If that's
what happened, it'll never be right until it's had a complete overhaul, and that's no quickie job -
even if you can find a repair shop that will try it. You may have trouble on that because
Riccardo drives are so far out of date."
The red-haired man said, "Wait a minute." He raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. "Skipper?
You heard that?"
Horn raised his eyebrows. The walkie-talkie had been in operation all along. The skipper of
the just-landed tramp ship had heard his emissary - presumably his mate - argue with the
operator; had heard all the conversation until now. The red-haired man said, "You heard it?
What'll I tell him?"
Horn saw the threadlike wire that led to a subminiature earphone in the red-headed man's
ear. The Theban's mate had been speaking under instructions. Now he got detailed orders.
"Skipper says," he reported to Horn, ignoring the operator, "come take a look at the engines
and see if you can patch them up. They acted like you said. You know your stuff. Come take a
look at them."
Horn shook his head. "No need. I heard them. You need a complete overhaul."
"How much just to take a look?" demanded the red-haired man. "Five hundred credits?"
Horn said, "I might patch it, but it'd fail again. And a patched job wouldn't pass survey
anyhow. You couldn't get lifted off."
The red-haired man said, "A thousand?"
"No," said Horn. "Engines in the state yours are in could go any second, quick patch or no