"Alan Dean Foster - The Man Who Used the Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Loo-Macklin's eyes didn't move from the other man's face. "I noticed
them when I walked in. So?"
"So you cannot have a very large-caliber explosive weapon in either of
the pockets where your hands have been since you came in. For the last couple
of minutes, both of my hands have been resting on specially keyed portions of
the fake display screen that stands between us.
"This keyed screen runs directly into the power control, which operates
this store, which in turn is linked to Tube Power Central. If you're holding a
ray weapon on me, it won't have sufficient power to knock me aside, either.
Should I fall forward and my hands thereby come in contact with the lower
portion of this screen, with any part of it, the metal meshing which underlies
the entire aisle on which you are currently standing will instantly become
electrified. Very strongly electrified, I might add." He peered downward.
"I see that you are not wearing insulated footwear." The nasty grin
returned. "You may kill me, but you'll end up just another cinder on the
floor, just like the other two your boss sent after me. Only you'll dance
longer. So why don't you just leave?"
One hand edged slightly downward toward the activated portion of the
display screen.
"Because if I slip, or if I get tired of this little conversation, you
won't have the chance to leave."
"What makes you think," asked Loo-Macklin curiously, "that I don't have
an explosive or projectile weapon of sufficient power in my pockets?"
"Amateurs," the owner snorted. "That's all I should expect of Lal, I
suppose. Amateurs. You poor ghit, even I can see that your hands aren't
clenched around anything. Even if one of them was, I don't think the pockets
on that cut of trousers are large enough to hold a decent-sized weapon.
"To top it off, you're not directly facing me. You could turn quickly,
I'm sure. Physical dexterity is usually present where mental agility is not.
But I could fall forward faster. Want to put it to the test?"
"No," said Loo-Macklin with a half smile, "I don't think so. It
wouldn't do me any good, because you're quite right. I don't have a projectile
weapon in either pocket."
"I thought so," said the owner, exuding self-satisfaction. "More's the
pity for you, though, you silly ignorant little ghit." His wrist tendons
bulged against the skin as he prepared to slide his hands forward.
There was a small but sharp explosion. Everything happened very
quickly.
The owner's hands never moved a centimeter downward. One moment he was
standing there, leaning over the invisible proximity field emanating from the
display screen and the next he was half imbedded in the fiberstone wall screen
behind him, sandwiched in among projections of necklaces and tiaras. Smoke
rose from the black cavity that had been his chest, where the twelve-
centimeter-long rocket had blown up.
The rocket had come out of the hollow, thick sole of Loo-Macklin's
right shoe, which had been pointing at the owner ever since his visitor had
entered the shop. It was only natural for a shortish fellow to wear lifters on
his footgear.
A very difficult shot, guessing the angle from the floor upward. Loo-
Macklin was a very precise person and he practiced hard. He believed one