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

The two men walked out of the brush and looked down at him. Their mere presence seemed to have been enough for the carnivores, because they had all vanished.
Grubbers. He had been in such a hurry to reach the city that he had forgotten about the grubbers. It was good that they were here and Jason was very glad they had come. He couldn't talk very well, so he smiled to thank them. But this hurt his lips too much so he went to sleep.
24
For a strange length of time after that, there were only hazy patches of memory that impressed themselves on Jason. A sense of movement and large beasts around him. Walls, woodsmoke, the murmur of voices. None of it meant very much and he was too tired to care. It was easiet and much better just to let go.

"About time," Rhes said. "A couple more days lying there like that and we would have buried you, even if you were still breathing."
Jason blinked at him, trying to focus the face that swam above him. He finally recognized Rbes, and wanted to answer him. But talking only brought on a spell of body-wracking coughing. Someone held a cup to his lips and sweet fluid trickled down his throat. He rested, then tried again.
"How long have I been here?" The voice was thin and sounded far away. Jason had trouble recognizing it for his own.
"Eight days. And why didn't you listen when I talked to you?" Plies said.
"You should have stayed near the ship when you crashed. Didn't you remember what I said about coming down anywhere on this continent? No matter, too late to worry about that. Next time listen to what I say. Our people moved fast and reached the site of the wreck before dark. They found the broken trees and the spot where the ship had sunk, and at first thought whoever had been in it had drowned. Then one of the dogs found your trail, but lost it again in the swamps during the night. They had a fine time with the mud and the snow and didn't have any luck at all in finding the spoor again. By the next afternoon they were ready to send for more help when they heard your firing. Just made it, from what I hear. Lucky one of them was a talker and could tell the wild dogs to clear out. Would have had to kill them all otherwise, and that's not healthy."
"Thanks for saving my neck," Jason said. "That was closer than I
like to come. What happened after? I was sure I was done for, I remember that much. Diagnosed all the symptoms of pneumonia. Guaranteed fatal in my condition without treatment. Locks like you were wrong when you said most of your remedies were useless-they seemed to work well on me."
His voice died off as Plies shook his head in a slow no, lines of worry sharp-cut into his face. Jason looked around and saw Naxa and another man. They had the same deeply unhappy expressions as Plies.
"What is it?" Jason asked, feeling the trouble. "If your remedies didn't work-what did? Not my medikit. That was empty. I remember losing it or throwing it away."
"You were dying," Plies said slowly. "We couldn't cure you. Only a junkman medicine machine could do that. We got one from the driver of the food truck."
"But how?" Jason asked, dazed. "You told me the city forbids you medicine. He wouldn't give you his own medikit. Not unless he

Rhes nodded and finished the sentence. 'Dead. Of course he was dead. I killed him myself, with a great deal of pleasure."
This hit Jason hard. He sagged against the pillows and thought of all those who had died since he had come to Pyrrus. The men who had died to save him, died so he could live, died because of his ideas. It was a burden of guilt that he couldn't bear to think about. Would it stop with Krannon-.or would the city people try to avenge his death?
"Don't you realize what that means!" he gasped out the words. "Krannon's death will turn the city against you. There'll be no more supplies. They'll attack you when they can, kill your people. . ."
"Of course we know that!" Rhes leaned forward, his voice hoarse and intense. "It wasn't an easy decision to come to. We have always had a trading agreement with the junkmen. The trading trucks were inviolate. This was our last and only link to the galaxy outside the eventual hope of contacting them."
"Yet you broke that link to save me-why?"
"Only you can answer that question completely. There was a great attack on the city and we saw their walls broken, they had to be moved back at one place. At the same time the spaceship was over the ocean, dropping bombs of some kind-the flash was reported. Then the ship returned and you left it in a smaller ship. They fired at you but didn't kill you. The little ship wasn't destroyed either; we are starting to raise it now. What does it all mean? We had no way of telling. We only knew it was something vitally important. You were alive, but would obviously
die before you could talk. The small ship might be repaired to fly; perhaps that was your plan and that is why you stole it for us. We couldn't let you die, not even if it meant all-out war with the city. The situation was explained to all of our people who could be reached by screen and they voted to save you. I killed the junkman for his medicine, then rode two doryms to death to get here in time.
"Now tell us-what does it mean? What is your plan? How will it help us?"
Guilt leaned on Jason and stifled his mouth. A fragment of an andent legend cut across his mind, about the jona who wrecked the spacer so all in it died, yet he lived. Was that he? Had he wrecked a world? Could he dare admit to these people that he had taken the lifeboat only to save his own life?
The three Pyrrans leaned forward, waiting for his words. Jason closed his eyes so he wouldn't see their faces. What could he tell them? If he admitted the truth, they would undoubtedly kill him on the spot, considering it only justice. He wasn't fearful for his own life anymore, but if he died the other deaths would all have been in vain. And there still was a way to end this planetary war. All the facts were available now, it was just a matter of putting them together. If only he wasn't so tired, he would see the solution. It was right there, lurking around a corner in his brain, waiting to be dragged out.
There was the sudden sound of heavy feet stamping outside the cabin, and a man's muffled shouting. No one except Jason seemed to notice. They were too intent on his answer. He groped in his mind, but couldn't find words to explain. Whatever he did, he couldn't admit the truth now. If he died all hope died. He had to lie to gain time, then find the correct solution that seemed so tantalizingly near. Yet he was too tired even to phrase a plausible lie.
The sound of the door bursting open crashed through the stillness of the room. A gnarled, stubby man stood there, his anger-red face set off by a full white beard.
"Everyone deaf?" he snarled. "I ride all night and shout my lungs out and you just squat here like a bunch a' egg-hatching birds. Get out! Quake! A big quake on the way!"
They were all standing now, shouting questions. Plies's voice cut through the uproar. "Hananas! How much time do we have?"
"Time! Who knows about time!" the greybeard cursed. "Get out or you're dead, s'all I know."
No one stopped to argue now. There was a furious rush and within a minute Jason was being strapped into a litter on one of the doryms.
"What's happening?" he asked the man who was tying him into place.
"Earthquake coming," he answered, his fingers busy with the knots. "Hananas is the best quakeman we have. He always knows before a quake is going to happen. If the word can be passed quick enough we get away. Quakemen always know, say they can feel them coming." He jerked the last knot tight and was gone.
Night cameas they were starting, the red of sunset matched by a surly scarlet glow in the northern sky. There was a distant rumbling, more felt than heard, and the ground stirred underfoot. The doryms hurried into a shambling run without being prodded. They splashed through a swamp and on the other side Hananas changed their course abruptly. A little later, when the southern sky exploded, Jason knew why. Flames lit the scene brightly, ashes sifted down and hot lumps of rock crashed into the trees. They steamed when they hit, and if it hadn't been for the earlier rain they would have been faced with a forest fire as well.
Something large loomed up next to the line of march, and when they crossed an open space Jason looked at it in the reflected light from the sky.
"Rhes-" he choked, pointing. Plies, riding next to him, looked at the great beast, shaggy body and twisted horns as high as their shoulders, then looked away. He wasn't frightened or apparently even interested. Jason looked around then and began to understand.
All of the fleeing animals made no sound, that's why he hadn't noticed them before. But on both sides dark forms ran between the trees. Some he recognized, most of them he didn't. For a few minutes a pack of wild dogs ran near them, even mingling with the domesticated dogs. No notice was taken. Flying things flapped by overhead. Under the greater threat of the volcanoes all other battles were forgotten. Life respected life. A herd of fat, pig-like beasts with curling tusks blundered through the line. The doryms slowed, picking their steps carefully so they wouldn't step on them. Smaller animals sometimes clung to the backs of the bigger ones, riding untouched awhile, before they leaped off.
Pounded mercilessly by the jarring litter, Jason fell wearily into a light sleep. It was shot through with dreams of the rushing animals, hurrying on forever in silence. With his eyes open or shut, he saw the same endless stream of beasts.
It all meant something and he frowned as he tried to think what. Animals running, Pyrran animals.
He sat bolt upright suddenly, twisting in his litter, wide awake and staring down in comprehension.
"What is it?" Plies asked, swinging his dorym in close.
"Go on," Jason said. "Get us out of this, and get us out safely. I know how your people can get what they want, end the war now. There is a way, and I know how it can be done."
25
There were few coherent memories of the ride. Some things stood out sharply like the spaceship-sized lump of burning scoria that had plunged into a lake near them, showering the line with hot drops of water. But mostly it was just a seemingly endless ride, with Jason still too weak to care much about it. By dawn the danger area was behind them and the march had slowed to a walk. The animals had vanished as the quake was left behind, going their own ways, still in silent armistice.
The peace of mutually shared danger was over; Jason found that out when they stopped to rest and eat. He and Plies went to sit on the soft grass, near a fallen tree. A wild dog had arrived there first. It lay under the log, muscles tensed, the ruddy morning light striking a red glint from its eyes. Plies faced it, not three meters away, without moving a muscle. He made no attempt to reach one of his weapons or to call for help. Jason stood still as well, hoping the Pyrran knew what he was doing.
With no warning at all the dog sprang straight at them. Jason fell backward as Plies pushed him aside. The Pyrran dropped at the same time-only now his hand held the long knife, yanked from the sheath strapped to his thigh. With unseen speed the knife came up, the dog twisted in midair, trying to bite it. Instead it sank in behind the dog's forelegs, the beast's own weight tearing a deadly gaping wound the length of its body. It was still alive when it hit the ground, but Plies was astraddle it, pulling back the bony-plated head to cut the soft throat underneath.
The Pyrran carefully cleaned his knife on the dead animal's fur, then returned it to the sheath. "They're usually no trouble," he said quietly, "but it was excited. Probably lost the rest of the pack in the quake." His actions were the direct opposite of the city Pyrrans. He had not looked for trouble nor started the fight. Instead he had avoided it as long as he could. But when the beast charged, it had been neatly and efficiently dispatched. Now, instead of gloating over his victory, he seemed troubled over an unnecessary death.
It made sense. Everything on Pyrrus made sense. Now he knew how the deadly planetary battle had started-and he knew how it could be ended. All the deaths had not been in vain. Each one had helped him along the road a little more toward the final destination. There was just one final thing to be done.