"Norton, Andre - Time Traders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

He came back to consciousness slowly. For a second he thought he was blind. Then he began to
sort out one shade of grayish light from another. Finally, Ross became aware that he no longer rested
on his back, but was slumped in a seat. The world about him was wrung with a vibration that beat in
turn through his body.
Ross Murdock had remained at liberty as long as he had because he was able to analyze a situation
quickly. Seldom in the past five years had he been at a loss to deal with any challenging person or
action. Now he was aware that he was on the defensive and was being kept there. He stared into the
dark and thought hard and furiously. He was convinced that everything that was happening to him
this day was designed with only one end in view--to shake his self-confidence and make him pliable.
Why?
 Ross had an enduring belief in his own abilities and he also possessed a kind of shrewd
understanding seldom granted to one so young. He knew that while Murdock was important to
Murdock, he was none too important in the scheme of things as a whole. He had a record--a record
so bad that Rawle might easily have thrown the book at him. But it differed in one important way
from that of many of his fellows; until now he had been able to beat most of the raps. Ross believed
this was largely because he had always worked alone and taken pains to plan a job in advance.
Why now had Ross Murdock become so important to someone that they would do all this to shake
him? He was a volunteer--for what? To be a guinea pig for some bug they wanted to learn how to
kill cheaply and easily? They'd been in a big hurry to push him off base. Using the silent treatment,
this rushing around in planes, they were really working to keep him groggy. So, all right, he'd give
them a groggy boy all set up for their job, whatever it was. Only, was his act good enough to fool the
major? Ross had a hunch that it might not be, and that really hurt.
It was deep night now. Either they had flown out of the path of the storm or were above it. There
were stars shining through the cover of the cockpit, but no moon.
Ross's formal education was sketchy, but in his own fashion he had acquired a range of knowledge
which would have surprised many of the authorities who had had to deal with him. All the wealth of a
big city library had been his to explore, and he had spent much time there, soaking up facts in many
odd branches of learning. Facts were very useful things. On at least three occasions assorted scraps of
knowledge had preserved Ross's freedom, once, perhaps his life.
Now he tried to fit together the scattered facts he knew about his present situation into some proper
pattern. He was inside some new type of aircraft, a machine so advanced in design that it would not
have been used for anything that was not an important mission. Which meant that Ross Murdock had
become necessary to someone, somewhere. Knowing that fact should give him a slight edge in the -
future, and he might well need such an edge. He'd just have to wait, play dumb, and use his eyes and
ears.
At the rate they were shooting along they ought to be out of the country in a couple of hours.
Didn't the Government have bases over half the world to keep the "cold peace"? Well, there was
nothing for it. To be planted abroad someplace might interfere with plans for escape, but he'd handle
that detail when he was forced to face it.
Then suddenly Ross was on his back once more, the giant hand digging into his chest and middle.
This time there were no lights on the ground to guide them in. Ross had no intimation that they had
reached their destination until they set down with a jar which snapped his teeth together.
The major wriggled out, and Ross was able to stretch his cramped body. But the other's hand was
already on his shoulder, urging him along. Ross crawled free and clung dizzily to a ladderlike
disembarking structure.
Below there were no lights, only an expanse of open snow. Men were moving across that blank
area, gathering at the foot of the ladder. Ross was hungry and very tired. If the major wanted to play
games, he hoped that he'd wait until the next morning.
In the meantime he must learn where "here" was. If he had a chance to run, he wanted to know the
surrounding territory. But that hand was on his arm, drawing him along toward a hillock of snow.