"Norton, Andre - Galactic Derelict" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

line, a whispering of trouble to come. New fuel rationing slapped on, a tense-ness in the air...



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GALACTIC DERELICT

Out here it was easy enough to shove all that stuff out of one's mind. The desert dried out to nothing
the bickering of men. These cliffs had stood the same before the brown-skinned men of his race had
trickled down from the north. They would probably be standing, though perhaps radio-active, when the
White-eyes blasted both white and brown men out of it again.
The sight of the 'copter had triggered memories Travis did not like. He continued to wonder, as the
machine disappeared in the direction he himself was following, what its mission was here.
He did not sight it again, which strengthened his belief that the machine carried no local rancher. If the
pilot had been hunting herd strays, he would circle. Prospectors? But there had been no news of a
government expedition, and and during the past five years prospecting had been rigidly controlled.
Travis located the concealed turn-off into the hidden can-yon. As the pinto picked a careful way, his
rider studied the ground. There was no sign that any man had passed that way for a long time. He
clicked his tongue and the horse quickened pace. They had gone perhaps two miles along that snake's
path when Travis brought his mount to a halt.
The warning had been borne by a puff of breeze tickling his nose. This was no desert wind laden with
heat and grit, for it carried the scent of juniper. The pinto nickered and mouthed its bit--water ahead.
But also the land before them was not empty of men.
Travis swung out of the saddle, taking his rifle with him. Unless the past year had seen some changes in
the terrain ahead, there was a good cover on the lip of the hidden can-yon's entrance. Without being
visible himself, he would be able to survey the camp therein. For camp smells reached him now--wood
smoke, coffee, frying bacon.
The ascent to his chosen spy post was easy. From below

GALACTIC DERELICT

came the pine scent, heavier now, drawn out by the sun's rays, and the small, busy twittering of birds
about their own con-cerns. There was a cup of green lying there, about a spring-fed pool which
mirrored the hot blue of the sky. Between that water and the vast shallow cave which held the block
city of the Old Ones, stood the 'copter. And tending a cooking fire was a man. A second had gone to
the pool for water.
Travis did not believe they were ranchers. But they wore the sturdy clothing of outdoor men and
moved about the business of making camp with assurance. He began to inventory what he could see
of their supplies and equipment.
The 'copter was of the latest model. And in the shade offered by a small stand of trees he could make
out bedrolls. But he did not sight any digging tools, any indication that this was a prospecting team.
Then the man walked back from the pool, set his filled bucket down by the fire, and dropped cross-
legged before a big package which he proceeded to free from a canvas covering. Travis watched him
uncover what could only be a portable communicator of advanced design.
The operator was patiently inching the antenna rod up into the air, when Travis heard the pinto nicker.
Age-old instinct he was not conscious of brought him around, still on his knees, with rifle ready. But it
was only to front another weapon with a deadly promise in the open mouth of the barrel aimed
directly and mercilessly at his middle.