"Chapman, John L - Time, Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chapman John L)

"Look!" yelled Holmes. "One of your deserters!"
They looked--and to the east they saw a tiny, disheveled figure, plainly visible
in the moonlight, running madly toward the city. One hand was held high in the
air, waving.
The Horde leader watched with an amused expression. "A deserter all right. The
guards will get him."
"Not if I get him first," said Forthmiller as he drew a gleaming little pistol
from an inner pocket. "I came prepared, and the pleasure's mine--"
"Wait!" protested Stanley. "You aren't going to shoot--"
Forthmiller pulled the trigger and the running form tripped and fell lifelessly
into the dust.
"You crazy fool!" Stanley growled. "Now look what you've--"
Rhamnol interrupted him. "It's all right. He was merely shooting a deserter.
That's common in the city."
"Sure," agreed Forthmiller, "and he was a Dweller besides."
"No use arguing," interposed Casmir. "The fellow is probably dead, and there's
no reason for regretting that. I suggest we forget about it and get some
rest--before dawn."
"One minute," put in Henry Holmes. "Do you want to sleep and wait to be blown
apart in the morning? The Dwellers will turn this deconite thing on us."
"Now you're talking sense," said Stanley. "While we've got the chance, we ought
to get the weapon on the Horde side. If we did that, we could take care of the
Dwellers in no time."
"But how will we get it?" asked Casmir, shrugging. "No one wants to take the
chance."
Forthmiller uttered a mirthless chuckle, and spun the gun on his finger. "No
trouble at all," he grated. "Why didn't somebody think of this before?"
His lanky frame moved to the opposite side of the balcony, where he climbed over
the railing and dropped to a nearby roof. The roof led to a point near the
city's surrounding wall. Forthmiller leaped across the small space, and let
himself down the outside of the wall, beyond which the Dwellers' torches still
flamed.
"Better go along," said Stanley, starting after him.
Rhamnol gripped his shoulder. "No. One is enough, and at that they may sight
him. If he can get the weapon alone, so much the better."
FORTHMILLER crawled along in the soft sand near the edge of the illuminated
valley. He looked back for a brief while, glimpsing the little trail of
footprints that led back to the hushed darkness of the city. The moon had merged
with a cloud, and now the only light came from the torches of the Dwellers.
To the right, he could see part of the metallic walls of the time machine. He
looked about anxiously for the deconite apparatus, and his hopes sank. The
weapon was gone.
Inch by inch, Forthmiller crept to the valley's edge. Soon he could see the
direct flame of the torches, and the heads of a swarm of Dwellers. He crawled
another body length, raised his head a little, and saw an appalling scene before
him.
Mulr, the leader, and several of his aids were grouped about the deconite bomb.
The weapon's tube was pointed skyward--in the direction of the city. Mulr was
crouching at the control box, studying its instrument panel anxiously.
The old warrior was smart enough to comprehend. Casmir had been right--the