"H. Beam Piper - Police Operation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

going to need it, again, soon." He turned to the little redhead. "Want to show me the way out of here, to
the rocket field?" he asked.




Outside, on the open landing field, Verkan Vall glanced up at the sky, then looked at his watch. It had
been twenty minutes since he had backed the jeep into the barn, on that distant other time-line; the[Pg 9]
same delicate lines of white cirrus were etched across the blue above. The constancy of the weather,
even across two hundred thousand parayears of perpendicular time, never failed to impress him. The long
curve of the mountains was the same, and they were mottled with the same autumn colors, but where the
little village of Rutter's Fort stood on that other line of probability, the white towers of an apartment-city
roseтАФthe living quarters of the plant personnel.

The rocket that was to take him to headquarters was being hoisted with a crane and lowered into the
firing-stand, and he walked briskly toward it, his rifle and musette slung. A boyish-looking pilot was on
the platform, opening the door of the rocket; he stood aside for Verkan Vall to enter, then followed and
closed it, dogging it shut while his passenger stowed his bag and rifle and strapped himself into a seat.

"Dhergabar Commercial Terminal, sir?" the pilot asked, taking the adjoining seat at the controls.

"Paratime Police Field, back of the Paratime Administration Building."

"Right, sir. Twenty seconds to blast, when you're ready."

"Ready now." Verkan Vall relaxed, counting seconds subconsciously.

The rocket trembled, and Verkan Vall felt himself being pushed gently back against the upholstery. The
seats, and the pilot's instrument panel in front of them, swung on gimbals, and the finger of the indicator
swept slowly over a ninety-degree arc as the rocket rose and leveled. By then, the high cirrus clouds
Verkan Vall had watched from the field were far below; they were well into the stratosphere.

There would be nothing to do, now, for the three hours in which the rocket sped northward across the
pole and southward to Dhergabar; the navigation was entirely in the electronic hands of the robot
controls. Verkan Vall got out his pipe and lit it; the pilot lit a cigarette.

"That's an odd pipe, sir," the pilot said. "Out-time item?"

"Yes, Fourth Probability Level; typical of the whole paratime belt I was working in." Verkan Vall handed
it over for inspection. "The bowl's natural brier-root; the stem's a sort of plastic made from the sap of
certain tropical trees. The little white dot is the maker's trademark; it's made of elephant tusk."

"Sounds pretty crude to me, sir." The pilot handed it back. "Nice workmanship, though. Looks like good
machine production."

"Yes. The sector I was on is really quite advanced, for an electro-chemical civilization. That weapon I
brought back with meтАФthat solid-missile projectorтАФis typical of most Fourth Level culture. Moving
parts machined to the closest tolerances, and interchangeable with similar parts of all similar weapons.
The missile is a small bolt of cupro-alloy coated lead, propelled by expanding gases from the ignition of
some nitro-cellulose compound. Most of their scientific advance occurred [Pg 10] within the past century,