"Harrison, Harry - Deathworld 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

For JOAN
1
With a gentle sigh the service tube dropped a message capsule into the receiving cup. The attention bell chimed once and was silent. Jason dinAlt stared at the harmless capsule as though it were a ticking bomb.
Something was going wrong. He felt a hard knot of tension form inside of him. This was no routine service memo or hotel communication, but a sealed personal message. Yet he knew no one on this planet, having arrived by spacer less than eight hours earlier. Since even his name was new-dating back to the last time he had changed ships- there could be no personal messages. Yet here one was.
Stripping the seal with his thumbnail, he took the top off. The recorder in the pencil-sized capsule gave the taped voice a tinny sound, with no clues as to the speaker.
"Kerk Pyrrus would like to see Jason dinAlt. I'm waiting in the lobby."
It was wrong, yet it couldn't be avoided. Chances were that the man was harmless. A salesman perhaps, or a case of mistaken identity. Nevertheless Jason carefully positioned his gun behind a pillow on the couch, with the safety off. There was no way to predict how these things would turn out. He signaled the desk to send the visitor up. When the door opened, Jason was slumped down on a corner of the couch, sipping from a tall glass.
A retired wrestler. That was Jason's first thought when the man came through the door. Kerk Pyrrus was a grey-haired rock of a man, his body apparently chiseled out of flat slabs of muscle. His grey clothes were so conservative they were almost a uniform. Strapped to his forearm was a rugged and much-worn holster, a gun muzzle peering blankly from it.
"You're dinAh the gambler," the stranger said bluntly. "I have a proposition for you."
Jason looked across the top of his glass, letting his mind play with the probabilities. This was either the police or the competition-and
he wanted nothing to do with either. He had to know a lot more before he became involved in any deals.
"Sorry, friend," Jason smiled. "But you have the wrong party. Like to oblige, but my gambling always seems to help the casinos more than myself. So you see. . ."
"Let's not play games with each other," Kerk broke in with a chesty rumble. "You're dinAh and you're Bohel as well. If you want more names, I'll mention Mahaut's Planet, the Nebula Casino and plenty more. I have a proposition that will benefit both of us, and you had better listen to it."
None of the names caused the slightest change in Jason's half-smile. But his body was tensely alert. This musciebound stranger knew things he had no right to know. It was time to change the subject.
"That's quite a gun you have there," Jason said. "But guns make me nervous. I'd appreciate it if you took it off."
Kerk scowled down at the gun, as if he were seeing it for the first time. "No, I never take it off." He seemed mildly annoyed by the suggestion.
The testing period was over. Jason needed the upper hand if he was to get out of this one alive. As he leaned forward to put his drink on the table, his other hand fell naturally behind the pillow. He was touching the gun butt when he said, "I'm afraid I'll have to insist. I always feel a little uncomfortable around people who are armed." He kept talldng to distract attention while he pulled out his gun. Fast and smooth.
He could have been moving in slow motion for all the difference it made. Kerk Pyrrus stood dead still while the gun came out, while it swung in his direction. Not until the very last instant did he act. When he did, the motion wasn't visible. First his gun was in the armholster-then it was aimed between Jason's eyes. It was an ugly, heavy weapon with a pitted front orifice that showed plenty of use.
Jason knew if he swung his own weapon up a fraction of an inch more he would be dead. He dropped his arm carefully, angry at himself for trying to substitute violence for thought. Kerk flipped his own gun back into the holster with the same ease he had drawn it.
"Enough of that now," Kerk said. "Let's get down to business."
Jason reached out and downed a large mouthful from his glass, bridling his temper. He was fast with a gun-his life had depended on it more than once-and this was the first time he had ever been outdrawn. It was the offhand, unimportant manner it had been done that irritated him.
"I'm not prepared to do business," he said acidly. "I've come to Cassylia for a vacation, get away from work."
"Let's not fool each other, dinAh," Kerk said impatiently. "You've never worked at an honest job in your entire life. You're a professional gambler and that's why I'm here to see you."
Jason forced down his anger and threw the gun to the other end of the couch so he wouldn't be tempted to commit suicide. He had been so sure that no one knew him on Cassylia and had been looking forward to a big kill at the Casino. He would worry about that later. This wrestler type seemed to know all the answers. Let him plot the course for awhile and see where it led.
"All right, what do you want."
Kerk dropped into a chair that creaked ominously under his weight, and dug an envelope out of one pocket. He flipped through it quickly and dropped a handful of gleaming Galactic Exchange Notes onto the table. Jason glanced at them-then sat up suddenly.
"What are they-forgeries?" he asked, holding one up to the light.
"They're real enough," Kerk told him, "I picked them up at the bank. Exactly twenty-seven bills-or twenty-seven million credits. I want you to use them as a bankroll when you go to the Casino tonight. Gamble with them and win."
They looked real enough-and they could be checked. Jason fingered them thoughtfully while he examined the other man.
"I don't know what you have in mind," he said. "But you realize I can't make any guarantees. I gamble-but I don't always win."
"You gamble-and you win when you want to," Kerk said grimly. "We looked into that quite carefully before I came to you."
"If you mean to say that I cheat . . ." Carefully, Jason grabbed his temper again and held it down. There was no future in getting annoyed.
Kerk continued in the same level voice, ignoring Jason's growing anger. "Maybe you don't call it cheating, frankly I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you could have your sleeves lined with aces and electromagnets in your toes. As long as you win. I'm not here to discuss moral points with you. I said I had a proposition.
"We have worked hard for that money-but it still isn't enough. To be precise, we need three billion credits. The only way to get that sum is by gambling. With these twenty-seven million as bankroll."
"And what do I get out of it?" Jason asked the question coolly, as if any bit of the fantastic proposition made sense.
"Everything above the three billion you can keep, that should be fair enough. You're not risking your own money, but you stand to make enough to keep you for life if you win."
"And if I lose?"
Kerk thought for a moment, not liking the taste of the idea. "Yes, there is the chance you might lose. I hadn't thought about that."
He reached a decision. "If you lose-well, I suppose that is just a risk we will have to take. Though I think I would kill you then. The oz~es who died to get the twenty-seven million deserve at least that." He said it quietly, without malice, and it was more of a considered decision than a threat.
Stamping to his feet, Jason refilled his glass and offered one to Kerk who took it with a nod of thanks. He paced back and forth, unable to sit. The whole proposition made him angry, yet at the same time had a fatal fascination. He was a gambler and this talk was like the sight of drugs to an addict.
Stopping suddenly, he realized that his mind had been made up for some time. Win or lose-live or die-how could he say no to the chance to gamble with money like that! He turned suddenly and jabbed his finger at the big man in the chair.
"I'll do it-you probably knew I would from the time you came in here. There are some terms of my own, though. I want to know who you are, and who they are you keep talking about. And where did the money come from-is it stolen?"
Kerk drained his own glass and pushed it away from him.
"Stolen money? No, quite the opposite. Two years' work mining and refining ore to get it. It was mined on Pyrrus and sold here on Cassylia. You can check on that very easily. I sold it. I'm the Pyrric ambassador to this planet." He smiled at the thought. "Not that that means much, I'm ambassador to at least six other planets as well. Comes in handy when you want to do business."
Jason looked at the muscular man with his grey hair and worn, military-cut clothes, and decided not to laugh. You heard of strange things out in the frontier planets and every word could be true. He had never heard of Pyrrus either, though that didn't mean anything. There were over thirty thousand known planets in the inhabited universe.
"I'll check on what you have told me," Jason said. "If it's true we can do business. Call me tomorrow. . .
"No," Kerk said. "The money has to be won tonight. I've already issued a check for this twenty-seven million; it will bounce as high as the Pleiades unless we deposit the money in the morning, so that's our time limit."
With each moment, the whole affair became more fantastic-and more intriguing for Jason. He looked at his watch. There was still enough time to find out if Kerk was lying or not.
"All right, we'll do it tonight," he said. "Only I'll have to have one of those bills to verify."
Kerk stood up to go. "Take them all, I won't be seeing you again until after you've won. I'll be at the Casino, of course, but don't recognize me. It would be much better if they didn't know where your money was coming from or how much you had."