"Harry Harrison - SSR 08 - The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the " - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"Somebody coulda come in here!" the guard shouted, his weapon nosing about 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.



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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.

"La necesejo estas cc tae?" I said, smiling smarmily.