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

Deathworld
Harry Harrison
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 gray-haired rock of
a man, his body apparently chiseled out of flat slabs of muscle. His gray 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 dinAlt 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 dinAlt 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 muscle-bound
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 talking 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.