"Dragon Army" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

here. Sooner or later, the earthquakes would engulf them.
Not yet, however. And possibly, not at all, if his new hopes were justified.
Bulkley said, "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"
"No. This is merely something I want to get off my chest, so that we can have
things straight, and understand each other. The fact is that I've stumbled on
something that may be important enough to get us off this planet."
He could see the spark of light that sprang into Bulkley's eyes. There was new
hope thereЧnew hope, and new danger.
"What is it, Newell?"
"Before I tell you, I want to know how far you've gone with that equipment
you've been working on, from the old buried wreck we found in the forest."
The man's eyes became hooded, evasive. "Not very far. The space ship was an
obsolete type, and the equipment wasn't of much use."
"Then there's no use in my telling you what I found."
"What do you mean by that? demanded Bulkley.
"We can't get off here unless we can communicate with the nearest space outpost.
And if you haven't been able to construct a long-range radio transmitterЧ"

THE EYES shifted, prepared to look candid and truthful. "I haven't been working
on it very hard. I might get the thing done if there was a good reason for it."
You're lying, thought Newell. Most probably you've got the radio transmitter
already made, and you're trying to keep its existence to yourself. Now that you
see a chance of getting out of here, you feel that your need for me is less. I
know you're a killer, I know that I'm dangerous to you, too dangerous to be
allowed to live. Well, I'm not going to tell you much now, old friend. I'm not
going to tell you so much that you'll feel you can afford to kill me, and go it
alone.
He said, "There's a good reason. But I'm keeping it to myself until I see that
transmitter."
Bulkley stared at him, hatred radiating from the big body. "So after coming in
here and turning that show off, and building up my hopes, you've got nothing to
tell me."
"Nothing, until I see that transmitter. I don't trust you, Bulkley. It's never
good policy to trust murderers."
The hatred in the room seemed ready to crystallize, to take tangible form. But
Bulkley merely said with contempt, "You'll see the transmitter tomorrow. And
what you have to say had better be good."
"It will be good enough." Newell switched on the television set. An ancient
man's withered face sprang into being on the screen, and a droning voice began
to fill the air with details of linguistic differences between races of
different galaxies. This was educational, and no mistake about it. "Here's your
program, Bulkley. Only, this old bird isn't removing any veils."
Bulkley reached a heavy hand toward the set, and once more the picture on the
screen faded. The hatred in the room continued to hang there, thick and heavy.
They ate in silence, and when the meal was over, Newell went into his own room,
closed the door, and quietly arranged the booby trap he had prepared. He knew
that Bulkley would not try to kill him yet, not until he had learned what the
discovery was. But there was nothing to prevent Bulkley from knocking him out,
tying him up, and then torturing him in an effort to get the secret. Nothing but
his own ingenuity.