Gray Lensman by E. E. Doc Smith

Author:E. E. Doc Smith [Smith, E. E. Doc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780425054604
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1974-01-01T13:30:00+00:00

was after!

The ape had had a screen; but it was such a nuisance he took it off for a rest whenever he

came here, No Lensmen on Euphrosyne! They had combed everybody, even this drunken bum

here. This was one place that no Lensman would ever come to; or, if he did, he wouldn't last

long. Kinnison had been pretty sure that Strongheart would be in cahoots with somebody bigger

than a peddler, and so it had proved. This guy knew plenty, and the Lensman was taking the

information—all of it. Six weeks from now, eh? Just right— time to find enough metal for

another royal binge here . . .

And during that binge he would really do things . . . Six weeks. Quite a while . . . but . . .

QX. It would take some time yet, anyway, probably, before the Regional Directors would, like

this fellow, get over their scares enough to relax a few of their most irksome precautions. And,

as has been intimated, Kinnison, while impatient enough at times, could hold himself in check

like a cat watching a mousehole whenever it was really necessary.

Therefore, in the cell, he seated himself upon the bunk and seized the packet from the

hand of the stranger. Tearing it open, he stuffed the contents into his mouth; and, eyes rolling

and muscles twitching, he chewed vigorously; expertly allowing the potent juice to trickle down

his gullet just fast enough to keep his head humming like a swarm of angry bees. Then, the cud

sucked dry, he slumped down upon the mattress, physically dead to the world for the ensuing

twenty four G-P hours.

He awakened; weak, flimsy, and supremely wretched. He made heavy going to the

office, where Strongheart returned to him the keys of his boat.

"Feeling low, sir." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'll say so," the Lensman groaned. He was holding his spinning head, trying to steady the

gyrating universe. "I'd have to look up—'way, 'way up, with a number nine visi-plate—to see a

snake's belly in a swamp. Make that damn cat quit stomping his feet, can't you?"

"Too bad, but it won't last long." The voice was unctuous enough, but totally devoid of

feeling. "Here's a pick-up— you need it."

The Lensman tossed off the potion, without thanks, as was good technique in those parts.

His head cleared miraculously, although the stabbing ache remained.

"Come in again next time. Everything's been on the green here, ain't it, sir?"

"Uh-huh, very nice," the Lensman admitted. "Couldn't ask for better. I'll be back in five

or six weeks, if I have any luck at all."

As the battered but staunch and powerful meteor-boat floated slowly upward a desultory

conversation was taking place in the dive he had left. At that early hour-business was slack to the

point of non-existence, and Strongheart was chatting idly with a bartender and one of the

hostesses.

"If more of the boys was like him we wouldn't have no trouble at all," Strongheart stated

with conviction. "Nice, quiet, easy-going—a right guy, I say."

"Yeah, but at that maybe it's a good gag nobody riled him up too much," the barkeep

opined. "He could be rough if he wanted to, I bet a quart.

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