"Stephen Goldin - Finish Line" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

His straightforward manner caught her by surprise. Granted, the Hunt was a
difficult Game and few people ever really expected to win; but even so, Bred
was a deVrie… and of the previous seven Hunts that had been run, deVries had

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Laser Book 45 - Finish Line by Stephen Goldin (v1.0) (html)


won four. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm not competing any more," Bred said simply. "I'm dropping out as
of Midway." Noting the surprised expression on her face, he added, "Don't look
so stunned; it's perfectly legal, you know."

"But… but nobody just drops out. Even if you only go through the motions,
you're supposed to play through to the end."

"Well, someone forgot to write that into the official Rules. Cheer up. Mistress
Kimatsan. You'll have it as an exclusive story."

His last word brought her mind back to her reason for being here. She was
supposed to get a story—his story. The Scavenger Hunt was so dramatic an
event that the general public wanted to know everything about it and the
contestants. She was here to write an article, and she had better concentrate on
that fact.

All business now, she asked, "Would you care to tell me why you're dropping
out?" She turned on her holocorder: it would make an audio-visual record of this
event.

"Well, there are some personal reasons between my sister and myself that would
take too much time to go into, and would serve no point. Basically, I felt that the
Hunt was a senseless risk of life and limb, and I decided not to go along with it
any further. A guy could get killed out there."

"Then why did you start in the first place?"



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Bred sighed and fidgeted with his glasses. "Again, personal reasons between my
sister and myself. It was really for her, because a deVrie has always been in the
Scavenger Hunt. She cares more about those things than I do. She'd have entered
by herself if she could, but the Rules said male contestants only. I never could
say no to her… until recently." He stared off into empty air for a moment,
contemplating something that remained unspoken. His fingers stroked the wiry
hair of his beard.