Eric Frank Russell - Jay Score (Marathon) 02 - Mechanistria, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
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MECHANISTRIA by Eric Frank Russell
There we were, standing on the mezzanine of Terrastroport
Seven Administration Building. Not a darned one of us
knew why we had been summoned so unexpectedly or why
we weren't blasting as usual for Venus in the morning.
So we hung around, asking unanswerable questions of
Each other with our eyes and getting ourselves nowhere.
I had once seen thirty Venusian guppies gaping in adenoidal
dumbfoundment at an Aberdeen terrier named Fergus
and straining their peanut brains for the reason why one
end waggled. They looked pretty much as we were looking
right now.
Portly and bland as ever, Captain McNulty came along
just as the nail-gnawing contest was about to begin. He
was followed by half a dozen of the Upsydaisy's leading
technicians and a skinny little runt we'd never seen before.
In the rear came Jay Score walking lithely over floorboards
that squeaked under his three hundred or more
pounds. I never failed to be surprised by the casual ease
with which he bore his massive frame. His eyes were
aglow as they gave us that all-embracing look.
Gesturing to us to follow; McNulty led us into a room,
Page 1
strutted onto its small platform and addressed us in the
manner of one about to tutor a newly-formed third grade.
"Gentlemen and vedras, I have with me this afternoon
the famous Professor Flettner."
He made a precise bow toward the runt who grinned and
did a bit of foot-twisting like a kid caught snitching the
fudge.
"The professor is seeking a crew for his extra-solarian
vessel, the
Marathon
. Jay Score and six of our technicians
have volunteered to go along with me. We have been
accepted and have received the necessary extra training
during the term of your leave."
"It was a pleasure," put in Flettner, anxious to placate us
for stealing the skipper.
"The Terrestrial Government," continued McNulty, flattered,
"has approved the entire complement of my former
command, the Venusian freighter
Upskadaska City
. Now
it's up to you fellows. Those who may wish to stay with
the Upskadaska City can leave this meeting and report for
duty. Will those who prefer to accompany me please
signify by raising a hand." Then his roving eye discovered
the Martians and he hastily added, "Or a tentacle."
Page 2
Sam Hignett promptly stuck up his brown mitt. "Captain,
I'd rather stay with you."
He beat the rest of us by a fraction of a second. Funny
thing, not a single one of us really was bursting to shoot
around in Flettner's suicide-box. It was merely that we
were too weak to refuse. Or maybe we stuck out our necks
for the sake of seeing the look that came into McNulty's
features.
"Thank you, men," said McNulty in the solemn sort of
voice they use at burials. He swallowed hard, blew his
nose. His gaze roamed over us almost lovingly, became
suddenly abashed as it discovered one Martian figure
flopped in a corner, all its limp tentacles sprawling
negligently around.
"Why, Sug Farn --- " he began.
Kli Yang, chief coach of the Red Planet bunch, chipped
in quickly with "I put up two tentacles, Captain. One for
myself and one for him. He is asleep. He deputed me to
act on his behalf, to say yes, or say no, or sing, `Pop Goes
The Weazel' as required."
Page 3
Everyone laughed. Sug Farn's utter and complete laziness
had been a feature of life aboard the Upsydaisy. The
skipper alone was unaware that nothing short of an urgent
outside job or a game of chess could keep Sug Farn awake.
Our laughter ended and the sleeper immediately filled in
the silence with one of those eerie, high-pitched whistles
that is the Martian version of a snore.
"All right," said McNulty, striving to keep a smile away
from his mouth. " I want you to report aboard ship at
dawn. We blast at ten ack emma G.M.T. I'll leave Jay
Score to give you further information and answer any
Questions."
The
Marathon
was a real beauty, Flettner designed, government
built, with fine lines halfway between those of a
war cruiser and those of a light racing rocket. Indeed, she
had space-navy fittings that were luxurious by comparison
with what we'd had on the Upsydaisy. I liked her a lot. So
did the rest.
Standing at the top of the telescopic metal gangway, I
watched the last comers arrive. Jay Score went down,
returned lugging his enormous case. He was allowed more
weight in personal luggage than any three others. No
Page 4
wonder, for only one item among his belongings was a
spare atomic engine, a lovely little piece of engineering
coming to eighty pounds. In a way, this was his standby
heart.
Four government experts came aboard in a bunch. I'd
no idea of who they were or why they were going with us,
but directed them to their private cabins. The last arrival
was young Wilson, a fair-haired, moody lad of about nineteen.
He'd had three boxes delivered in advance and now
was trying to drag three more aboard.
"What's in those?" I demanded.
"Plates." He surveyed the ship with unconcealed distaste.
"Repair, dinner or dental?" I inquired.
"Photographic," he snapped without a glimmer of a smile.
"You the official picture man?"
"Yes."
"All right. Dump those boxes in mid-hold."
Page 5
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MECHANISTRIA by Eric Frank Russell
There we were, standing on the mezzanine of Terrastroport
Seven Administration Building. Not a darned one of us
knew why we had been summoned so unexpectedly or why
we weren't blasting as usual for Venus in the morning.
So we hung around, asking unanswerable questions of
Each other with our eyes and getting ourselves nowhere.
I had once seen thirty Venusian guppies gaping in adenoidal
dumbfoundment at an Aberdeen terrier named Fergus
and straining their peanut brains for the reason why one
end waggled. They looked pretty much as we were looking
right now.
Portly and bland as ever, Captain McNulty came along
just as the nail-gnawing contest was about to begin. He
was followed by half a dozen of the Upsydaisy's leading
technicians and a skinny little runt we'd never seen before.
In the rear came Jay Score walking lithely over floorboards
that squeaked under his three hundred or more
pounds. I never failed to be surprised by the casual ease
with which he bore his massive frame. His eyes were
aglow as they gave us that all-embracing look.
Gesturing to us to follow; McNulty led us into a room,
Page 1
strutted onto its small platform and addressed us in the
manner of one about to tutor a newly-formed third grade.
"Gentlemen and vedras, I have with me this afternoon
the famous Professor Flettner."
He made a precise bow toward the runt who grinned and
did a bit of foot-twisting like a kid caught snitching the
fudge.
"The professor is seeking a crew for his extra-solarian
vessel, the
Marathon
. Jay Score and six of our technicians
have volunteered to go along with me. We have been
accepted and have received the necessary extra training
during the term of your leave."
"It was a pleasure," put in Flettner, anxious to placate us
for stealing the skipper.
"The Terrestrial Government," continued McNulty, flattered,
"has approved the entire complement of my former
command, the Venusian freighter
Upskadaska City
. Now
it's up to you fellows. Those who may wish to stay with
the Upskadaska City can leave this meeting and report for
duty. Will those who prefer to accompany me please
signify by raising a hand." Then his roving eye discovered
the Martians and he hastily added, "Or a tentacle."
Page 2
Sam Hignett promptly stuck up his brown mitt. "Captain,
I'd rather stay with you."
He beat the rest of us by a fraction of a second. Funny
thing, not a single one of us really was bursting to shoot
around in Flettner's suicide-box. It was merely that we
were too weak to refuse. Or maybe we stuck out our necks
for the sake of seeing the look that came into McNulty's
features.
"Thank you, men," said McNulty in the solemn sort of
voice they use at burials. He swallowed hard, blew his
nose. His gaze roamed over us almost lovingly, became
suddenly abashed as it discovered one Martian figure
flopped in a corner, all its limp tentacles sprawling
negligently around.
"Why, Sug Farn --- " he began.
Kli Yang, chief coach of the Red Planet bunch, chipped
in quickly with "I put up two tentacles, Captain. One for
myself and one for him. He is asleep. He deputed me to
act on his behalf, to say yes, or say no, or sing, `Pop Goes
The Weazel' as required."
Page 3
Everyone laughed. Sug Farn's utter and complete laziness
had been a feature of life aboard the Upsydaisy. The
skipper alone was unaware that nothing short of an urgent
outside job or a game of chess could keep Sug Farn awake.
Our laughter ended and the sleeper immediately filled in
the silence with one of those eerie, high-pitched whistles
that is the Martian version of a snore.
"All right," said McNulty, striving to keep a smile away
from his mouth. " I want you to report aboard ship at
dawn. We blast at ten ack emma G.M.T. I'll leave Jay
Score to give you further information and answer any
Questions."
The
Marathon
was a real beauty, Flettner designed, government
built, with fine lines halfway between those of a
war cruiser and those of a light racing rocket. Indeed, she
had space-navy fittings that were luxurious by comparison
with what we'd had on the Upsydaisy. I liked her a lot. So
did the rest.
Standing at the top of the telescopic metal gangway, I
watched the last comers arrive. Jay Score went down,
returned lugging his enormous case. He was allowed more
weight in personal luggage than any three others. No
Page 4
wonder, for only one item among his belongings was a
spare atomic engine, a lovely little piece of engineering
coming to eighty pounds. In a way, this was his standby
heart.
Four government experts came aboard in a bunch. I'd
no idea of who they were or why they were going with us,
but directed them to their private cabins. The last arrival
was young Wilson, a fair-haired, moody lad of about nineteen.
He'd had three boxes delivered in advance and now
was trying to drag three more aboard.
"What's in those?" I demanded.
"Plates." He surveyed the ship with unconcealed distaste.
"Repair, dinner or dental?" I inquired.
"Photographic," he snapped without a glimmer of a smile.
"You the official picture man?"
"Yes."
"All right. Dump those boxes in mid-hold."
Page 5
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