Read Online The Makeshift Rocket by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Poul Anderson
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
stared.
‘Rory,’ she said. Then, feeling that her conversation was too limited, she got out in a rush of words: ‘Let’s just forget all these awful things. I mean, let’s just stay up here and, and, and I’ll explain about Duncanism to you and, well, I mean don’t go back to the engine room, please!’
He said in a rasp: ‘So ’tis me ye’d be keepin’ up here whilst auld Syrup does what he will in the stern? An’ what do ye offer me besides conversation?’
‘Everything!’ said Emily, taking an automatic cue from the beautiful lady agent vs. Sir Frederic; because her own mind felt full of glue and hammers.
‘Everything, eh?’
Suddenly his arm jerked from beneath her. She fell in a heap. The green-clad body towered above, up and up and
up
, and a voice like gunfire crashed:
‘So that’s the game, is it? So ye think I’d sell the honor of the McConnells for – for – Why, had I known yez for what ye are, I’d not have given yez a second look the third time we met. An’ to think I wanted yez for the mother of me sons!’
‘No,’ cried Emily. She sat up, hearing herself call like a stranger across light-years. ‘No, Rory, when I said everything I didn’t mean everything! I just—’
‘Never mind,’ he snarled, and went from the bridge. The door cracked shut behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Knud Axel Syrup paused a moment in the after transverse corridor. The bulkhead which faced him bore a stencilled KEEP OUT and three doors: the middle one directly to the engine room, the right-hand one to the machine shop, and the left to his small private cabin. These two side chambers also had doors opening directly on the engine room. It made for a lack of privacy distressing in the present cloak-anddagger situation.
However, the wild Erseman would no doubt be up on the bridge for hours. Herr Syrup sighed, a little enviously, and went through the central door.
‘Awwrk,’ said Claus, flapping in from the cabin. ‘Nom
d’un nom d’une vache! Schweinhund! Sanamabiche
!’
‘Exactly,’ said Herr Syrup. He entered the little bathroom behind the main energy converter and extracted a bottle of beer from a cooler which he had installed himself. Claus paced impatiently along a rheostat. Herr Syrup crumbled a pretzel for him and poured a little beer into a saucer. The crow jabbed his beak into the liquid, tilted back his black head, shook out his feathers, and croaked: ‘
Gaudeatnus igitur
!’
‘You’re velcome,’ said Herr Syrup. He inspected the locked electrical cabinet. Duplicating a Yale key would call for delicate instruments and skilled labor. After latching all doors to the outside, he went into the machine shop, selectedvarious items, and returned. First, perhaps, a wire into the slot…
The main door shivered under a mule kick. Faintly through its insulated metal thickness came a harsh roar: ‘Open up, ye auld scut, or I’ll crack the outer hatches an’ let ye choke!’
‘Yumping Yupiter,’ said Herr Syrup.
He pattered across the room and admitted Rory McConnell, who glared down upon him and snarled: ‘So ’tis up to your sneakin’ tricks ye are again, eh? Throw a pretty face an’ long legs at me an’ – Aaargh! Be off wi’ yez!’
‘But,’ bleated Herr Syrup. ‘But vas you not talkin’ vit’ Miss Croft?’
‘I was,’ said McConnell. ‘’Tis not a mistake I’ll make ag’in. Go tell her to save her charms for bigger fools than me. I’m goin’ to sleep now.’ He tore off his various weapons, laid them beside his pack, and sat down on the floor. ‘Git out!’ he rapped, fumbling at a boot zipper. His face was like fire. ‘Tomorry perhaps I can look at ye wi’ out bokin’!’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Herr Syrup.
‘Oh, shucks,’ said Claus, though not in just those words.
Herr Syrup picked up his miscellaneous tools and stole back into the workshop. A moment afterward he remembered his bottle of beer and stuck his head back through the communicating door.
‘Rory,’ she said. Then, feeling that her conversation was too limited, she got out in a rush of words: ‘Let’s just forget all these awful things. I mean, let’s just stay up here and, and, and I’ll explain about Duncanism to you and, well, I mean don’t go back to the engine room, please!’
He said in a rasp: ‘So ’tis me ye’d be keepin’ up here whilst auld Syrup does what he will in the stern? An’ what do ye offer me besides conversation?’
‘Everything!’ said Emily, taking an automatic cue from the beautiful lady agent vs. Sir Frederic; because her own mind felt full of glue and hammers.
‘Everything, eh?’
Suddenly his arm jerked from beneath her. She fell in a heap. The green-clad body towered above, up and up and
up
, and a voice like gunfire crashed:
‘So that’s the game, is it? So ye think I’d sell the honor of the McConnells for – for – Why, had I known yez for what ye are, I’d not have given yez a second look the third time we met. An’ to think I wanted yez for the mother of me sons!’
‘No,’ cried Emily. She sat up, hearing herself call like a stranger across light-years. ‘No, Rory, when I said everything I didn’t mean everything! I just—’
‘Never mind,’ he snarled, and went from the bridge. The door cracked shut behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Knud Axel Syrup paused a moment in the after transverse corridor. The bulkhead which faced him bore a stencilled KEEP OUT and three doors: the middle one directly to the engine room, the right-hand one to the machine shop, and the left to his small private cabin. These two side chambers also had doors opening directly on the engine room. It made for a lack of privacy distressing in the present cloak-anddagger situation.
However, the wild Erseman would no doubt be up on the bridge for hours. Herr Syrup sighed, a little enviously, and went through the central door.
‘Awwrk,’ said Claus, flapping in from the cabin. ‘Nom
d’un nom d’une vache! Schweinhund! Sanamabiche
!’
‘Exactly,’ said Herr Syrup. He entered the little bathroom behind the main energy converter and extracted a bottle of beer from a cooler which he had installed himself. Claus paced impatiently along a rheostat. Herr Syrup crumbled a pretzel for him and poured a little beer into a saucer. The crow jabbed his beak into the liquid, tilted back his black head, shook out his feathers, and croaked: ‘
Gaudeatnus igitur
!’
‘You’re velcome,’ said Herr Syrup. He inspected the locked electrical cabinet. Duplicating a Yale key would call for delicate instruments and skilled labor. After latching all doors to the outside, he went into the machine shop, selectedvarious items, and returned. First, perhaps, a wire into the slot…
The main door shivered under a mule kick. Faintly through its insulated metal thickness came a harsh roar: ‘Open up, ye auld scut, or I’ll crack the outer hatches an’ let ye choke!’
‘Yumping Yupiter,’ said Herr Syrup.
He pattered across the room and admitted Rory McConnell, who glared down upon him and snarled: ‘So ’tis up to your sneakin’ tricks ye are again, eh? Throw a pretty face an’ long legs at me an’ – Aaargh! Be off wi’ yez!’
‘But,’ bleated Herr Syrup. ‘But vas you not talkin’ vit’ Miss Croft?’
‘I was,’ said McConnell. ‘’Tis not a mistake I’ll make ag’in. Go tell her to save her charms for bigger fools than me. I’m goin’ to sleep now.’ He tore off his various weapons, laid them beside his pack, and sat down on the floor. ‘Git out!’ he rapped, fumbling at a boot zipper. His face was like fire. ‘Tomorry perhaps I can look at ye wi’ out bokin’!’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Herr Syrup.
‘Oh, shucks,’ said Claus, though not in just those words.
Herr Syrup picked up his miscellaneous tools and stole back into the workshop. A moment afterward he remembered his bottle of beer and stuck his head back through the communicating door.
Similar Books
