hh.thessrat.sings.the.blues- 第1部分

　
　Walking　up　the　wall　had　not　been　easy。　But　walking　across　the　ceiling　was　turning　out　to　be　pletely　impossible。　Until　I　realized　that　I　was　going　about　it　the　wrong　way。　It　seemed　obvious　when　I　thought　about　it。　When　I　held　onto　the　ceiling　with　my　hands　I　could　not　move　my　feet。　So　I　switched　off　the　molebind　gloves　and　swung　down；　hanging　only　from　the　soles　of　my　boots。　The　blood　rushed　to　my　head…as　well　it　might　bringing　with　it　a　surge　of　nausea　and　a　sensation　of　great　unease。
　What　was　I　doing　here；　hanging　upside　down　from　the　ceiling　of　the　Mint；　watching　the　machine　below　stamp　out　five…hundred…thousand…credit　coins？　They　jingled　and　fell　into　the　waiting　baskets…so　the　answer　to　that　question　was　pretty　obvious。　I　nearly　fell　after　them　as　I　cut　the　power　on　one　foot。　f　swung　it　forward　in　a　giant　step　and　slammed　it　solidly　against　the　ceiling　again　as　I　turned　the　binding　energy　back　on。　A　generator　in　the　boot　emitted　a　field　of　the　same　binding　energy　that　holds　molecules　together；　making　my　foot；　at　least　temporarily；　a　part　of　the　ceiling。　As　long　as　the　power　was　on。
　A　few　more　long　steps　and　I　was　over　the　baskets。　I　fumbled　at　my　waist；　trying　to　ignore　the　dizziness；　and　pulled　out　the　cord　from　my　oversized　belt　buckle。　Bending　double　until　could　reach　up　to　the　ceiling；　I　pushed　the　knob　at　the　end　against　the　plaster　and　switched　it　on。　The　molebind　field　damped　hard　and　I　released　my　feet。　To　hang；　swinging；　right　side　up　now；　while　the　blood　seeped　out　of　my　florid　face。
　〃e　on　Jim…no　hanging　about；〃　I　advised　myself。　〃The　alarm　will　go　off　any　second　now。〃
　Right　on　cue　the　sirens　screamed；　the　lights　blinked；　while　a　gargantuan　hooter　thundered　through　the　walls。　I　did　not　tell　myself　that　I　told　me　so。　No　time。　Thumb　on　the　power　button　so　that　the　immensely　strong；　almost　invisible；　single…molecule　cord　whirred　out　of　the　buckle　and　dropped　me　swiftly　down。　When　my　outstretched　hands　clinked　among　the　coins　I　stopped。　Opened　my　attaché　case　and　dragged　it　clanking　through　the　coins　until　it　was　full　of　the　shining；　shimmering　beauties。
　Closed　and　sealed　it　as　the　tiny　motor　buzzed　and　dragged　me　up　to　the　ceiling　again。　My　feet　struck　and　stuck：　I　switched　off　power　to　the　lifting　lug。
　And　the　door　opened　below　me。
　〃Somebody　coulda　e　in　here！〃　the　guard　shouted；　his　weapon　nosing　about　him。　〃The　door　alarm　went　off。〃
　〃Maybe…but　I　don't　see　nothin'；〃　the　second　guard　said。
　They　looked　down　and　around。　But　never　up。　I　hoped。　Feeling　the　sweat　rolling　up　my　face。　Collecting　there。　Dropping
　I　watched　with　horror　as　the　droplets　spattered　down　onto　the　guard's　helmet。
　〃Next　room！〃　he　shouted；　his　voice　drowning　out　the　splat　of　perspiration。　They　rushed　out；　the　door　closed；　I　walked　across　the　ceiling；　crawled　down　the　wall；　slumped　with　exhaustion　on　the　floor。
　〃Ten　seconds；　no　more；〃　I　admonished。　Survival　was　a　harsh　taskmaster。　What　had　seemed　like　a　good　idea　at　the　time　maybe　really　was　a　good　idea。　But　right　now　I　was　very　sorry　I　had　ever　seen　the　newsflash。
　Ceremonial　opening　of　new　Mart　on　Paskonjak　。　。　。　planet　often　called　Mintworld　。　。　。　first　half…million…credit　coins　ever　issued　。　。　。　dignitaries　and　press　invited。
　It　had　been　like　the　sound　of　the　starting　gun　to　a　sprinter。
　I　was　off。　A　week　later　I　was　stepping　out　of　the　space　terminal　on　Paskonjak；　bag　in　hand　and　forged　press　credentials　in　pocket。　Even　the　massed　troops　and　tough　security　had　not　tempered　my　madness。　The　machines　in　my　case　were　immune　from　detection　by　any　known　security　apparatus；　the　case　projected　a　totally　false　image　of　its　contents　when　radiation　hit　it。　My　step　had　been　light；　my　smile　broad。
　Now　my　face　was　ashen　and　my　legs　trembled　with　fatigue　as　I　pushed　myself　to　my　feet。
　〃Look　calm；　look　collected…think　innocence。〃
　I　swallowed　a　calm…and…collected　pill　that　was　coated　with　instant　uppers。　One；　two；　three　paces　to　the　door；　my　face　flushed　with　pride；　my　gait　noble；　my　conscience　pure。
　I　put　on　my　funky　bejeweled　spectacles　and　looked　through　the　door。　The　ultrasound　image　was　fuzzy。　But　clear　enough　to　reveal　figures　hurrying　past。　When　they　were　gone　I　unlocked　the　door；　slipped　through　and　let　it　close　behind　me。
　Saw　the　rest　of　my　party　of　journalists　being　pushed　down　the　corridor　by　screaming；　gun…waving　troops。　Turned　and　marched　firmly　away　in　the　opposite　direction　and　around　the　bend。
　The　guard　stationed　there　lowered　his　gun　and　pointed　it　at　my　belt　buckle。
　〃La　necesejo　estas　cc　tae？〃　I　said；　smiling　smarmily。
　〃What　you　say？　What　you　doin'　here？〃
　〃Indeed？〃　I　snorted　through　widened　nostrils。　〃Rather　short　on　education；　particularly　a　knowledge　of　Esperanto；　aren't　we？　If　you　must　know；　speaking　in　the　vulgar　argot　of　this　planet…I　was　told　that　the　men's　room　was　down　here。〃
　〃Well　it　ain't。　Da　udder　way。〃
　〃You're　too　kind。〃
　I　turned　and　strolled　diffidently　down　the　hall。　Had　taker。　three　steps　before　reality　penetrated　his　sluggish　synapses。
　〃e　back　here；　you！〃
　I　stopped　and　turned　about；　pointed　past　him。　〃Down　that　way？〃　I　asked。　The　gas　projector　I　had　palmed　when　my　back　was　turned　towards　him　hissed　briefly。　His　eyes　closed　and　he　dropped；　I　took　the　gun　from　his　limp　hands　as　he　fell　by。　Placed　it　on　his　sleeping　chest　since　it　was　of　no　help　to　me。　Walked　briskly　past　him　and　pushed　open　the　door　to　the　emergency　stairs。　Closed　and　leaned　against　it　and　breathed　very　deeply。　Then　took　out　the　map　that　had　been　in　the　press　kit　and　poked　my　finger　on　the　symbol　for　stairs。　Now；　down　to　the　storeroom　。　。　。　footsteps　sounded　below。
　Up。　Quietly　on　soft　soles。　A　change　of　plan　was　very　much　in　order　since　the　alarm　had　sounded；　ruling　out　a　simple　exit　with　the　crowd。　Up；　five；　six　；flights　until　the　steps　ended　in　a　door　labeled　KROV。　Which　probably　meant　roof　in　the　local　language。
　There　were　three　different　alarms　that　I　disabled　before　I　pushed　the　door　open　and　slipped　through。　Looked　around　at　the　usual　rooftop　clutter；　water　tanks；　vents；　aircon　units…and　a　goodsized　smokestack　puffing　out　pollution。　Perfect。
　The　moneybag　clunked　as　I　dropped　all　my　incriminating　weapons　and　tools　into　it。　My　belt　buckle　twisted　open　and　I　took　out　the　reel　and　motor。　Attached　the　molebind　plug　from　the　suspension　cord　to　the　bag；　then　lowered　it　all　down　the　chimney。　Reaching　down　as　far　as　I　could　I　secured　the　reel　mechanism　to　the　inside　of　the　pipe。
　Done。　It　would　wait　there　as　long　as　needed；　until　all　the　excitement　calmed　down。　An　investment　waiting　to　be　collected　you　might　say。　Then；　armed　only　with　my　innocence；　I　retraced　my　course　back　down　the　stairs　and　on　to　the　ground　floor。
　The　door　opened　and　closed　silently　and　there　was　a　guard；　back　turned；　standing　close　enough　to　touch。　Which　I　did；　tapping　him　on　the　shoulder。　He　shrieked；　jumped　aside；　turned；　lifted　his　gun。
　〃Didn't　mean　to　startle　you；〃　I　said　sweetly。　〃Afraid　I　got　separated　from　my　party。　The　press　group　。　。　。〃
　〃Sergeant；　I　got　someone；〃　he　burbled　into　the　microphone　on　his　shoulder。　〃Me；　yeah；　Private　Izmet；　post　eleven。　Right。　Hold　him。　Got　that。〃　He　pointed　the　gun　between　my　eyes。　〃Don't　move？〃
　〃I　have　no　intention　of　that；　I　assure　you。〃
　I　admired　my　fingernails；　plucked　a　bit　of　fluff　from　my　jacket；　whistled；　tried　to　ignore　the　wavering　gun　muzzle。　There　was　the　thud　of　running　feet　and　a　squad　led　by　a　grim　looking　sergeant　rushed　up。
　〃Good　afternoon；　Sergeant。　Can　you　tell　me　why　this　soldier　is　pointing　his　weapon　at　me？　Or　rather　why　you　are　all　pointing　your　weapons　at　me？〃
　〃Grab　his　case。　Cuff　him。　Bring　him。〃　A　man　of　few　words；　the　sergeant。
　The　elevator　they　hustled　me　to　had　not　been　marked　on　the　map　issued　to　the　journalists。　Nor　had　the　map　even　hinted　at　the　many　levels　below　the　ground　floor　that　penetrated　deep　into　the　bowels　of　the　earth。　The　pressure　hit　my　eardrums　as　we　dropped　about　as　many　floors　down　as　you　usually　go　up　in　a　skyscraper。　My　stomach　sank　as　well　as　I　realized　I　had　bitten　off　a　good　deal　more　than　I　could　possibly　chew。　Pushed　out　at　some　subterranean　level；　dragged　through　locked；　barred　gates；　one　after　another；　until　we　finally　reached　a　singularly　depressing　room。　Traditionally　bare　with　unshielded　lights　and　a　backless　stool。　I　sighed　and　sat。
　My　attempts　at　conversation　were　ignored；　as　was　my　press　pass。　Which　was　taken　from　me　along　with　my　shoes…then　the　rest　of　my　clothes。　I　pulled　on　the　robe　of　itchy　black　burlap　that　they　gave　me；　dropped　back　into　the　chair　and　made　no　attempt　to　outstare　my　guards。
　To　be　frank　this　was　a　kind　of　a　low　point；　made　even　lower　when　the　effects　of　the　calm…and…collected　pill　began　to　wear　off。　Just　about　the　time　my　morale　hit　bottom　the　loudspeaker　gurgled　inprehensible　instructions　and　I　was　hurried　down　the　hall　to　another　room。　The　lights　and　stool　were　the　same…but　this　time　they　faced　a　steel　desk　with　an　even　steelier…eyed　officer　behind　it。　His　glare　spoke　for　him　as　he　pointed　to　my　dissected　clothing；　bag；　shoes。
　〃I　am　Colonel　Neuredan　…　and　you　are　in　trouble。〃
　〃Do　you　always　treat　interstellar　journalists　like　this？〃
　〃Your　identity　is　false。〃　His　voice　had　all　the　warmth　of　two　roc