"08 - The SSR Sings the Blues" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

him. "The door alarm went off."

"Maybe-but I don't see nothin'," the second guard said.

They looked down and around. But never up. I hoped. Feeling the sweat
rolling up my face. Collecting there. Dropping

I watched with horror as the droplets spattered down onto the guard's
helmet.

"Next room!" he shouted, his voice drowning out the splat of perspiration.
They rushed out, the door closed, I walked across the ceiling, crawled down
the wall, slumped with exhaustion on the floor.

"Ten seconds, no more," I admonished. Survival was a harsh taskmaster. What
had seemed like a good idea at the time maybe really was a good idea. But
right now I was very sorry I had ever seen the newsflash.

Ceremonial opening of new Mart on Paskonjak . . . planet often called
Mintworld . . . first half-million-credit coins ever issued . . .
dignitaries and press invited.

It had been like the sound of the starting gun to a sprinter.

I was off. A week later I was stepping out of the space terminal on
Paskonjak, bag in hand and forged press credentials in pocket. Even the
massed troops and tough security had not tempered my madness. The machines
in my case were immune from detection by any known security apparatus; the
case projected a totally false image of its contents when radiation hit it.
My step had been light, my smile broad.

Now my face was ashen and my legs trembled with fatigue as I pushed myself
to my feet.

"Look calm, look collected-think innocence."

I swallowed a calm-and-collected pill that was coated with instant uppers.
One, two, three paces to the door, my face flushed with pride, my gait
noble, my conscience pure.

I put on my funky bejeweled spectacles and looked through the door. The
ultrasound image was fuzzy. But clear enough to reveal figures hurrying
past. When they were gone I unlocked the door, slipped through and let it
close behind me.

Saw the rest of my party of journalists being pushed down the corridor by
screaming, gun-waving troops. Turned and marched firmly away in the
opposite direction and around the bend.

The guard stationed there lowered his gun and pointed it at my belt buckle.