"Gordon R. Dickson & Harry Harrision - Lifeship" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

to the lifeship. There were voices in conversation just aheadтАФthen some-

thing large and dark seemed to flicker up in front of him, out of nowhere,
and something else that felt like a giant flyswatter slapped him from his
feet- He was momentarily staggered, but recovering even as he fell backward
to the soft surface of the corridor. His head clearing, he lay for a second
fighting to stay conscious. Now that he was down where the smoke was thinner,
he could see that he had run into a door someone had left standing open. As
he lay there, he heard two arbite voicesтАФone male, one young and femaleтАФ
talking.

"You heard that? The ship's breaking up," the man said.

"There's no point our waiting out here now. The lifeship's just down that
short hall. Let's go."

"No, Mara. Wait... we were supposed to wait..." The
man's voice trailed off.

"What're you afraid of, Groce?" The girl's voice had an edge to it. "You act
as if you don't dare breathe without permission from her! Do you want to stay
here and choke to death?"

"It's all right for you..." muttered the male voice. "I've never been mixed
up in anything. My record's perfect."

"If you think that mattersтАФ"

Giles 'head was clear now. He rolled to his feet in one quick motion, stepped
around the open door, and joined the two smaller

gray-suited figures beyond it.

"All right," he said, crisply. "You're correct, girl. The lifeship's just
down the corridor, here. YouтАФwhat's your name? Groce? Lead off!"

The male arbite turned without a word and obeyed, responding instinctively to
the note of command he would have heard from Adelbom all the days of his
life. He was a short, round-headed, stocky man in early middle age. For a
second, before following. Giles glanced curiously at the girl arbite. She was
small, as all those of the lower class were, but good-looking for an arbite.
Under her light-brown, close-cropped hair, her pale, narrow face was composed
and unafraid. No doubt some high-caste blood in her ancestry somewhere, Giles
thought.

"Good girl," he said more gently. "You follow me, now. Hang on to my jacket
if the smoke gets too thick to see."

He patted her on the head before stepping out in front of her. He had turned
away and did not see the sudden wild flash of indignation and anger that