"Harry Harrison - Planet Of No Return" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

peoples emotions. But we're in deep space, moving between two suns light years
apart—so how can there be anyone new aboard this ship ..." She stopped and
looked suddenly out at the stars. "A drop sphere, of course. This must be a
rendezvous, not just a normal orientation. Is there another FTL ship out
there? With someone transfering from it in a drop sphere?"

"Not coming—already arrived. He's on board now. And he's coming this way,
towards us. I don't like anything about this. I don't like the man—or the
message that he is bringing."

With a single flowing motion Brion was on his feet, facing about, fists
clenched. Although he was well over six feet tall and weighed nearly three-
hundred pounds, he moved like a cat. Lea looked up at the solid mass of him
towering over her and could almost feel the tension herself.

"You can't be sure," she said quietly. "Undoubtedly you are right about
someone coming aboard. But it doesn't necessarily mean that it has anything

to do with us . .

"One man dead, two men perhaps. And this one who is coming, he smells of death
himself. He's here

now."

Lea gasped as she heard the lounge door sliding open behind her. She looked
over her shoulder fearfully, staring at the opening, not knowing what to
expect. There was the shuffle of a soft footstep, then a thud. Shuffle, thud.
Closer and louder. Then a man appeared in the open doorway, hesitated there as
he looked about, blinking as though he had trouble

seeing. It took a decided effort for Lea to conceal her

The Smell of Death

21

instant feeling of repulsion; she had to force herself not to look away. The
man's single eye moved slowly past her to fix on Brion, Then he started
forward again, his twisted foot dragging, the crutch coming down heavily with
each step. Whatever force had injured his legs must have also torn away the
right side of his face. It was bright pink where a new growth of skin; a patch
covered the empty eye socket. His right arm was also missing, but an arm bud
had been grafted to his clavicle and within a year he would have a complete,
new arm. But right now it was only partly grown, a baby's arm only about a
foot long that dangled helplessly from his shoulder. He limped close, slight
and twisted, to stand before Brion's hulking form.

"I'm Carver," he said, his name a frightful parody of his condition. "I'm here