"Bova, Ben - Voyagers 03 - Star Brothers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

But I say unto you, That whoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council; but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.











CHAPTER 1






THE sudden heat was like a sodden, muffling blanket that weighed so heavily he could hardly breathe

foao de Sagres gasped and felt sweat streaming from every pore of his body as they struggled through dense jungle foliage Fronds slapped at his face Birds cawed and shrilled overhead The ground was spongy, squelching underfoot His expensive silk suit was drenched in seconds, stained and ruined He dared not even to glance at his muddy shoes Yet the man Stoner seemed perfectly at ease in this dripping, raucous, sweltering tropical forest Hardly a gleam of perspiration showed in his intense, dark-bearded face

"Where are we'" de Sagres asked in a whisper

"Almost there," said Stoner

"How did

Stoner silenced him with an upraised hand On a branch high above, a long-tailed monkey stared solemnly at them, then disappeared among the leaves in a blur of motion

"Get down," Stoner hissed

Dazedly, de Sagres did as commanded and dropped to his knees in the bushes The grass was alive with insects De Sagres saw ants the size of his thumbs crawling busily across the leaves a few centimeters in front of his face He shuddered and began to itch all over

"I don't understand "

"Shht"

He wanted to get up and run away, but to where' What was he doing in this strange dank oven of a jungle' How did this man Stoner bring him here' We should be in my office, speaking politely to each other over a civilized drink, with the air conditioning and ice cubes at hand, with my aides and servants and security guards protecting me

Yet he was kneeling in the mud of a tropical forest, bedraggled and sticky with sweat, certain that poisonous insects were devouring his flesh, trembling with fear. And totally unable to get away. It was as if he were chained to Stoner, shackled to the man like a prisoner.

Stoner was peering intently through the dense foliage. De Sagres studied the big man carefully. A fierce, uncompromising face, like an Old Testament patriarch. Patrician nose, strong cheekbones, a full dark beard that now showed drops of sweat in it, dark hair trimmed neatly. Powerful body, tall and lean and flat-bellied as an athlete's beneath the simple khaki jacket and whipcord slacks that he wore.

It was Stoner's eyes that unsettled de Sagres. They were gray, as gray as a distant thundercloud or the tossing stormy sea. Yet his eyes did not look troubled at all. Rather, they were as serene as any saint's, and terribly, terribly deep; there were depths in them that seemed infinite. When de Sagres had first looked at Stoner he had been startled by those strangely fathomless eyes; it was like the first time he had peered into a telescope and seen the universe of stars beyond counting.

For all his broad-shouldered build and fierce appearance, it was Stoner's compelling gray eyes that held de Sagres in an unbreakable grip of steel. The eyes of a madman. Or a mystic. They had fastened onto de Sagres's soul and they would not release him. De Sagres had received no hint, when he had welcomed Stoner to his private office in the capitol, that he would end up in this rotting infested jungle. Stoner had led and he had followed, as helpless as a lamb.