"Paul Preuss - Venus Prime 1 - Breaking Strain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Preuss Paul)

he would have lent a hand. Finally the doctor pulled himself into the coat. He glanced backward;his eyes
were wet and he was trembling, his face contorted with fear.

тАЬAfter you, please,тАЭsaid the orange man, amiably.

The doctor plucked at the doorknob, jerked the door open, stepped into the hallтАУstumbling against the
sill in what seemed imminent panic. As he went to one knee the orange man came forward with his left
hand outstretched, contempt curling his smile. тАЬReally, thereтАЩs nothing to be so upset . . .тАЭ

But as the hand came toward him the doctor erupted from his crouch, pinned the dapper orange man
against the door frame with a massive shoulder, thrust the fist with the gun in it high to the side. The
doctorтАЩs right hand came up swiftly with brutal force, brushing aside the manтАЩs flailing left, pushing up
hard under his breastbone.

тАЬAaahhh . . . ?тАЭ It was no scream, but a surprised gasp, rising on a note of anxiety. The orange man
lowered his startled eyes to his midriff. The barrel of an outsized hypodermic needle, still gripped in the
doctorтАЩs fist, protruded from the camelтАЩs hair coat at the level of his diaphragm.

No blood showed. The bleeding was internal.

The orange man was not dead yet, not nearly dead. His coat was thick and the shaft of the hypodermic
too short to reach his heart. The telescoping shafts within it were still thrusting, seeking his heart muscle
when he twisted his right wrist and brought the barrel of the Colt to bear, pulled the trigger
spasmodicallyтАУ


The phttt, phttt, phttt, phttt of the silenced weapon howled like a rocket launcher in SpartaтАЩs painfully
sensitive ear. She recoiled and stumbled down the hall toward her room, her head ringing with the
screams and agonized gasps, the tremor of running feet on the floor below shaking her like an
earthquake.

Into her mind like a slide flashed on a screen came an image to match one of the voices sheтАЩd heardтАУthat
of a little man who always dressed in expensive clothes that were too loud, a man with curly orange hair,
a man she knew she disliked and feared. With the conscious formation of that image, the amplified
sounds vanished.

By now the other inmates were wandering bewildered in the hall, clinging to the walls, for even ordinary
hearing was enough to apprehend the commotion downstairs. In her room Sparta tore off her nightgown
and quickly dressed in the warmest clothes she could find in the unfamiliar closet, clothes she didnтАЩt
really recognize but that were obviously her own. For reasons her memory would not reveal, she knew
she must flee.



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 ARTHUR C. CLARKE'S VENUS PRIME: VOLUME I



The doctorтАЩs body lay face up across the sill, blood pooling under his head. Next to him the orange man