"George R. R. Martin - Manna From Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

“Four. Three.” He stopped. “What distressing news?” he roared at the screen.
“Sir,” said Tuf, “if you must shout, you will only oblige me to adjust the volume on my communications
equipment.” He raised a finger. “The distressing news is that the mere act of broaching the Ark’s
defensive shields, as I have no doubt you can easily accomplish, will trigger a small thermonuclear device
that I have previously secreted within the ship’s cell library, thereby instantaneously destroying the very
cloning materials that make the Ark unique, invaluable, and widely coveted.”
There was a long silence. The glowing crimson sensors beneath the darkness of Wald Ober’s faceplate
seemed to smoulder as they stared into the screen at Tuf’s blank features. “You’re bluffing,” the
commander said at last.
“Indeed,” said Tuf. “You have found me out. How foolish to think I might hoodwink a man of your
perspicacity with such a blatant and juvenile deception. And now I fear you will fire upon me, rend my
poor obsolete defenses, and demonstrate my lie for good and all. Permit me only a moment to make my
farewells to my cats.” He folded his hands neatly atop his great paunch, and waited for the commander to
reply. The S’uthlamese flotilla, his instruments avowed, was now well within range.
“I’ll do just that, you damned abortion!” Wald Ober swore.
“I wait with sullen resignation,” said Tuf, unmoving.
“You have twenty seconds,” Ober said.
“I fear my news has confused you. The count previously stood at three. Nonetheless, I shall take
shameless advantage of your error and savor each instant remaining to me.”
They stared at each other, face to face and screen to screen, for the longest time. Snug in Tuf’s lap, Dax
began to purr. Haviland Tuf reached down to stroke the cat’s long black fur. Dax purred even more
loudly and began kneading Tuf’s knee with his claws.
“Oh, abort it to hell and gone,” said Wald Ober. He pointed at the screen. “You may have us checked
for the moment, but I warn you, Tuf, don’t even think about trying to get away. Dead or fled, your cell
library would be equally lost to us. And given a choice I’d sooner you be dead.”
“I comprehend your position,” said Haviland Tuf, “though I, of course, would sooner be fled. Yet I do
have a debt to pay to the Port of S’uthlam, and therefore could not honorably depart as you fear, so
please accept my assurances that you will have every opportunity to ponder my visage, and I your
fearsome mask, while we sit locked in this irksome impasse.”
Wald Ober never got the chance to reply. His battle mask vanished abruptly from the screen, and was
replaced by a woman’s homely features—a broad crooked mouth, a nose that had been broken more
than once, hard leathery skin with the deep blue-black cast that comes from lots of exposure to hard
radiation and decades of anti-carcinoma pills, pale bright eyes in a nest of squint-folds, all of it
surrounded by a lavish halo of coarse gray hair. “So much for getting tough,” she said. “You win, Tuf.
Ober, you’re now an honor guard. Form up and escort him into the web, damn it.”
“How thoughtful,” said Haviland Tuf. “I am pleased to inform you that I am now prepared to tender the
final payment due the Port of S’uthlam for the refitting of the Ark.”
“I hope you brought some catfood, too,” Tolly Mune said drily. “That so-called ‘five-year supply’ you
left me ran out almost two years ago.” She signed. “I don’t suppose you’d care to retire and sell us the
Ark.”
“Indeed not,” said Tuf.
“I didn’t think so. All right, Tuf, break out the beer, I’m coming to talk to you as soon as you reach the
web.”
“While I mean no disrespect, I must confess that I am not at the moment in the best frame of mind for
entertaining such a distinguished guest as yourself. Commander Ober has recently informed me that I
have been adjudged a criminal and heretic, a curious conception, as I am neither a citizen of S’uthlam nor
an adherent to its dominant religion, but no less disquieting for all that. I am agog with fear and worry.”
“Oh, that,” she said. “Just an empty formality.”
“Indeed,” Tuf said.
“Puling hell, Tuf, if we’re going to steal your ship we need a good legal excuse, don’t we? We’re a