Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

551 страница из 776

Thirty minutes later they were ordering in a small cantina down the street from the hospital.

Julio Camba, Federation Investigator, was a slender, dark man with sharp, glinting eyes. He spoke with a happy theatrical flourish.

“Order what you choose, Senor. We’re on my expense account. The resources of the Federated States of all The Americas stand behind your menu.”

Alcala smiled. “I wouldn’t want to add to the national debt.”

“Not at all, Senor. The Federated States are only too happy thus to express a fraction of their gratitude by adding a touch of luxury to the otherwise barren and self-sacrificing life of a scientist.”

“You shame me,” Alcala said dryly. It was true that he needed every spare penny for the health of Nita and the child, and for the laboratory. A penny saved from being spent on nourishment was a penny earned. He picked up the menu again and ordered steak.

The investigator lit a cigar, asking casually: “Do you know John Osborne Drake?”

Alcala searched his memory. “No. I’m sorry....” Then he felt for the first time how closely he was being watched, and knew how carefully his reaction and the tone of his voice had been analyzed. The interview was dangerous. For some reason, he was suspected of something.