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

his own room. The sight of Hardy, whoever he might be, had radically changed Ross's perception of
the project he had too speedily volunteered to join.
That what they did here was important, Ross had never doubted. That it was dangerous, he had
already suspected. But his awareness had been abstract until Hardy came crawling through the dark.
From the first, Ross had nursed vague plans for escape; now he knew he must get out of this place
lest he end up a twin for Hardy.
"Murdock?"
 Startled by the soundless approach, Ross whirled around, ready to use his fists if need be. But he
did not face the major or any of the other taciturn officers that he recognized.
The newcomer's sun-browned skin and dark hair stood out sharply against the pale wall and
contrasted with the vivid blue of his eyes.
Expressionless, the dark stranger stood quietly, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He studied
Ross, as if the younger man was some problem he had been assigned to solve. When he spoke, his
voice was a flat monotone devoid of feeling.
"I am Ashe." He introduced himself baldly; he might have been saying "This is a table and that is a
chair."
Ross's quick temper took spark from the other's indifference. "All right--so you're Ashe!" He
strove to make a challenge of it. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
But the other did not rise to the bait. He shrugged. "For the time being we have been partnered--"
"Partnered for what?" demanded Ross, controlling his temper.
"We work in pairs here. The machine sorts us . . ." he answered and consulted his wrist watch.
"Mess call soon."
Ashe had already turned away, and Ross could not stand the other's lack of interest. Although
Murdock refused to ask questions of the major or any others on that side of the fence, surely he could
get some information from a fellow "volunteer."
"What is this place, anyway?" he asked.
The other glanced back over his shoulder. "Operation Retrograde."
Ross swallowed his anger. "Okay, but what do they do here? Listen, I just saw a fellow who'd been
banged up as if he'd been in a concrete mixer, creeping along this hall. What sort of work do they do
here? And what do we have to do?"
To his amazement Ashe smiled, at least his lips quirked faintly. "Hardy got under your skin, eh?
Well, we do have our failures. They are as few as it's humanly possible to make, and they give us
every advantage that can be worked out for us--"
"Failures at what?"
"Operation Retrograde."
Somewhere down the hall a buzzer whirred softly.
"That's mess call. And I'm hungry, even if you're not." Ashe walked away as if Ross Murdock had
ceased to exist.
But Ross Murdock did exist. As he trailed along behind Ashe he determined that he was going to
continue to exist, in one piece and unharmed, Operation Retrograde or no Operation Retrograde. And
he was going to pry a few enlightening answers out of somebody very soon.
To his surprise he found Ashe waiting for him at the door of a room from which came the sound of
voices and a subdued clatter of trays and tableware.
"Not many in tonight," Ashe commented in a take-it-or-leave-it tone. "It's been a busy week."
The room was sparsely occupied. Five tables were empty, while the men gathered at the remaining
two. Ross counted ten men, either already eating or coming back from a serving hatch with well-filled
trays. All of them were dressed in slacks, shirt, and moccasins like himself--the outfit seemed to be a
sort of undress uniform--and six of them were ordinary looking. The other four differed so radically
that Ross could barely conceal his amazement.
Since their fellows accepted them without comment, Ross stole glances at them as he waited