Strange Cargo Page #4

This business was none of her fault.

And will I let her remain in the colony?

And what makes you think

I deal in women, you miserable...

Take your money and get out of here.

Wouldn't have to rely on vermin like him

if you men filled your uniforms.

Have you discovered how Verne

managed to remain outside the walls?

There's no way of explaining it, sir.

36 men were counted through the gate,

and 36 men were counted back,

and double counted, sir.

Well, if you're sure of that, then,

it certainly is odd.

Isn't that the Bible you're reading?

With the exception of me, this room

is filled with men who have forgotten God.

Blasphemers, infidels, atheists.

And God, too, has forgotten them all.

All except me.

I will be forgiven for my sins.

The rest will burn in hell,

but I will be forgiven.

- So, that's why you read the Bible?

- Why else?

- There might be many other reasons.

- And there might be none at all.

Look at this pathetic little worm,

lulling the ache of his conscience

with spiritual aspirin.

I can't think of anything more practical

than removing that particular ache.

I can. Removing the conscience.

And you have none, Hessler.

How do you know my name?

I've never seen you before.

That doesn't mean

I've never seen you before.

And to look at him

is to look at the devil's spawn, senor.

Then pray for me, Telez.

And pray for my father, the devil, too.

You'll burn in hell where you belong.

You'll burn for the evil that you've done,

for the lives you've taken.

He has poisoned women for their money.

He deserved the guillotine.

Though I had wretched wives,

I had an excellent lawyer.

You were never meant for the scaffold,

Hessler, nor for a jail.

Did you hear that, Telez?

I am to be immortal.

That is, if your friend here

knows what he's talking about.

He's not my friend.

Perhaps he's yours. Perhaps he's the devil.

Poor Telez. I pity him.

Pity? I don't understand you.

Never having received any pity

or pitied anyone, let me plead ignorance.

- I don't know what it is.

- Have you no feelings at all?

For these men?

How can one feel kinship with the dead?

Look at them. Rotting in their graves.

Waiting for their bodies to die.

Perhaps before that happens,

they'll get out of their graves.

Not these.

They've dug them too narrow

and too deep. They can never climb out.

- Too weak, perhaps?

- To be weak is to be dead.

- Then to be strong is to live.

- Hasn't it always been so?

It seems to me the mighty have fallen

from time to time.

We must talk again, monsieur. You

have a brain. That makes two of us.

Hi, Superman.

How's the poison holding out?

Always a little left for friends, Verne.

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