"E. C. Tubb - Stardeath" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

captain, brought in my ship, delivered my passengers, and faced the music." He looked at his clenched
fists. "The last time, Major. I promise you that."
"You'll be old before they let you out," she said bluntly. "Old and broken and maybe insane. Nine
men, Varl. That's a heavy debt to pay, and you're damned lucky it isn't more. Those guards could have
died. If the monitor hadn't summoned medics without delay, they would have died and you'd be facing
fresh charges at this very moment. Think about it. Just think."
He drew in his breath and shook his head, then turned and paced the floor. The gas had left him a
little weak and foggy but not enough for him to be unaware of the guards beyond the door. The woman
had come for a reason; the guards had been sent to collect him; he had acted too quickly for his own
good.
"I've thought," he said. "So?"
"Just how badly do you want to get away from here?"
"So badly that if you're having a game with me I'll break your neck."
"I believe you." She met his eyes; her own were cold, calculating. "Do you think you could do it?"
"It would be fun to try."
"Your kind of fun." Contempt edged her voice. "To hurt. To kill. To force others to jump when you
give the word. A child. A vicious, unthinking child."
"An animal," he said. "That's what you called me. But even an animal has feelings. What do you want
from me?"
"You."
"Just that?"
"Can there be more?" She turned and poured wine from a decanter into a glass and lifted it to study
the tints swirling behind the crystal. "A deal, Varl. Your sentence commuted in return for your full
cooperation. I warn you now -- you could be getting the worst of the deal." She poured a second glass
of wine and extended it toward him. "Do we drink to it?"
He shook his head.
"You'd rather go back to your cell? To sit and wait for what's coming? What will it be the next time?
Flaying? Being slowly immersed in boiling oil? Choking on molten lead? Does it give you a kick? Are you
a masochist?"
Her voice was too high, its tone too harsh, and the set of her mouth and eyes betrayed her strain.
She was a woman sent to do a job and already she had tasted the possibility of failure.
He said, "The continued application of pain can build a resistance to its stimulus, as witnessed by
those addicted to the use of the whip. It can even cause an emotional transference. Who knows, given
time I may run joyfully to the sessions, eager to taste the new thrill of broken bones and burned flesh.
After all, it's only in the mind."
"You bastard!"
"Yes."
She looked at her wine and said, abruptly, "We need you."
"Who?"
"Earth Confederation. The Comptroller. The fleet. Every damned ship in space. Posterity. You want
more?"
"Start with your name."
"Major Erica Borken, Central Computer Division, Probability and Analog Section, Spatial
Department, Special Assignment."
"Why me?"
"The specifications." The wine vanished as she lifted the glass and drank; a single droplet clung like a
pearl to the full bloom of her lower lip. "We need a certain kind of man, and they aren't all that plentiful.
A primitive -- but with a brain. A man with guts and the killer instinct -- but who knows how to evaluate
situations Someone who has experience in space, who can handle people, who can give orders and
make them stick. A fighter. A man who can survive. Someone who knows how to hate."