"Moorcock, Michael - The Blood Red Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

'Sorry about that,' he said. 'Those hands were looking for trouble. They picked on Asquiol because of his clothes. We had to fight. We managed to avoid a dozen others, but couldn't get out of this one. The whole damned town's the same - tense, nervous, impatient.'

'I'm afraid I encouraged them,' Asquiol said. 'Really, one can't have one's dress insulted by such a vulgar breed!' He collapsed his knuckle-spikes and put them away.

Lonely and time-begrimed for all his youth, Asquiol dressed with careful flamboyance. He wore a high-collared, quilted jacket of orange ny-fur and tight slacks of purple stuff, which fitted over his pointed, fibreglass boots. His face was pale and tapering, his black hair cut short in a fringe over his forehead. He carried a slender, anti-neutron beamer - an outlawed weapon.

Asquiol had once been a prince - independent Overlord of Pompeii, before the Galactic Lords enforced their powers and brought the planet into the Union.

Renark remembered that Asquiol had lost his title and estates for protecting him, and he was grateful.

He noticed that the younger man had lapsed into a brooding mood. It was his usual reaction and because of it many people thought him unbalanced, though Renark knew that Asquiol was the very opposite. His was a fine, delicate balance which only his will maintained.

Talfryn, lean-faced like his two friends, sensitive and bearded, was an unlicensed explorer and therefore a criminal. He was dressed conservatively - sleeveless jerkin of unstained hide, blue shirt and black trousers. He carried a heavy power-gun. He looked curiously at Renark, but since he said nothing Renark remained silent.

Then he smiled. His thin, grim lips quirked upwards and he straightened his back, turning his long head and looking hard at Talfryn.

Talfryn seemed disturbed by the look, and felt obliged to speak, so he said: 'When do we leave? I'm impatient to get started.'

Renark did not respond for a moment, and just kept looking.

Talfryn said: 'I can't wait.'

'I'm not sure yet,' Renark said.

As they reached the tall, many-windowed structure of the Salvation Inn, on the edge of town, Talfryn said to Renark: 'You told us we were wasting time back there. How much time have we, roughly?'

'Maximum, thirty-six hours,' the Guide Senser replied.

Asquiol looked up, startled out of his mood. He seemed troubled. 'Is that all?'

'That's all - probably less. I can feel it coming closer to this continuum all the time, but it's difficult to keep a fix on it always. It takes most of my energy.'

They entered the wide, high-roofed public hall of the Salvation Inn. Asquiol looked around him, seeking someone in the crowd, but was disappointed. The huge windows, which stretched up one high wall lighted several tiered galleries and looked out on to the bright black and white carbon desert of the planet.

They pushed through the crowd of men and women of many types. There were richly clad men; ragged men; men who drank heavily and men who sipped at a single drink; vociferous men and quiet men. Here, as in the rest of the town, there was an air of tired, tense expectancy - an atmosphere, which had lasted, this era, for thirty-seven years. All the residents glanced often at the big scanner screens suspended in the middle of the hall.

The screens would come to life only on particular occasions - when what they awaited entered the area of space on which they were always focused. When that happened - if it happened - there would be a rush for the spaceport and Migaa would be deserted again. Some people had been waiting in Migaa for over thirty years; others had died before their chance came.

The three climbed a narrow, winding stair until they reached a gallery occupied by a table and three chairs. They sat down.

'I had this reserved,' Asquiol said as he craned his neck to look down into the public hall.

Renark looked at him quizzically. 'I'm having the ship checked and re-checked,' he said. 'It's got to be ready very soon. The Snifter could materialise well before the maximum thirty-six hours I mentioned. Though it shouldn't be here for another twelve hours - judging by the rate it's been moving towards us since I contacted it twenty days ago.'

Renark paused, staring out across the terrible desert, screwing his eyes against the glare, which penetrated even the polaroid windows.

'We've got to be ready,' he said. 'I can't tell how long it will remain in this continuum. There's also the possibility that it will go through the continuum at speed and we won't have a chance to get there before it travels on.'

'So we could have come to Migaa for nothing,' Talfryn shrugged. 'Well, my tune's my own.'