"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 15 - Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

guts for the sake of another's ambition. From somewhere came the roar
of an explosion, the rattle of small-arms fire. Flame, red and leaping,
rose to dull the watching stars, the distant points of brilliance cold,
remote, hostile in their indifference.

"Listen," said Clar. "Hide out until it's over. Pick a spot and crawl into
it and stay there until its safe to show yourself. Wait until well past dawn
and, when you move, keep your hands open and high. You understand?"

Beneath his fingers Dumarest could feel the growing acceleration of
the pulse in the dying man's throat.

"Be smart, Earl. Learn from one who knows. So we've lost, so what?
There'll be a penalty to pay, but later, when cool, the winners will listen
to reason. Now they'll kill anything moving on sight. IтАж" His voice broke,
returning edged with pain. "A burn like thatтАФwhy is it taking so long?"

The weapon itself had seen to that, cauterising the flesh and
preventing the swift loss of blood which would have brought a speedy
and merciful end. An irony. In another time and place the man could
have been saved, frozen, placed in an amniotic tank, the ruined tissue
replaced with other grown from his own cells. Now he could only wait for
death.

"Earl."

"I'm here, Clar." Dumarest tightened his hand. "My fingers, can you
feel them?"

"Yes, but I can't see you. Everything's gone dark." In the light of the
flare the eyes rolled, wide, the balls mottled with red. "You're a good
man, Earl. The kind a man needs at his side when he goes into battle. But
the life of a mercenary isn't for you. You're too smart. Too clever. Take
my advice, Earl. Get out while you can. Don't waste your life. Don'tтАФ
God, Earl! The pain! The pain!"
 More drugs would do nothing but stave off the inevitable and the
toxins flooding the man's bloodstream diminished their effectiveness.
But it was all he had. Dumarest used three more of the ampules then
snarled as Clar heaved beneath his hand. Old stock or diluted contents;
someone, somewhere, had made an easy profit and because of it a man
would die in screaming agony.

"Earl!"

Dumarest moved his hand, the fingers searching for the carotids,
finding them, pressing deep to cut off the blood supply to the brain.
Unconsciousness came almost at once but, as Clar relaxed, he
maintained his grip. To allow the man to wake required a sadistic bent
he did not possess. It was kinder to be merciful. More gentle to kill.