"Harry Harrison - Planet Of The Damned (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

nothing else moved. The depression of the ultimate fatigue fell on Brion and
everything changed, as if he looked in a mirror at a previously hidden side.
He saw suddenly--with terrible clarity--that to be a Winner was to be
absolutely nothing. Like being the best flea, among all the fleas on a single
dog.

What was Anvhar after all? An ice-locked planet, inhabited by a few million
human fleas, unknown and unconsidered by the rest of the galaxy. There was
nothing here worth fighting for; the wars after the Breakdown had left them
untouched. The Anvharians had always taken pride in this--as if being so
unimportant that no one else even wanted to come near you could possibly be a
source of pride. All the other worlds of man grew, fought, won, lost, changed.
Only on Anvhar did life repeat its sameness endlessly, like a loop of tape in
a player....

Brion's eyes were moist; he blinked. Tears! Realization of this incredible
fact wiped the maudlin pity from his mind and replaced it with fear. Had his
mind snapped in the strain of the last match? These thoughts weren't his.
Self-pity hadn't made him a Winner--why was he feeling it now? Anvhar was his
universe--how could he even imagine it as a tag-end planet at the outer limb
of creation? What had come over him and induced this inverse thinking?

As he thought the question, the answer appeared at the same instant. Winner
Ihjel. The fat man with the strange pronouncements and probing questions. Had
he cast a spell like some sorcerer--or the devil in Faust? No, that was pure
nonsense. But he had done something. Perhaps planted a suggestion when Brion's
resistance was low. Or used subliminal vocalization like the villian in
Cerebrus Chained. Brion could find no adequate reason on which to base his

suspicions. But he knew, with sure positiveness, that Ihjel was responsible.

He whistled at the sound-switch next to his pillow and the repaired
communicator came to life. The duty nurse appeared in the small screen.

"The man who was here today," Brion said, "Winner Ihjel. Do you know where he
is? I must contact him."

For some reason this flustered her professional calm. The nurse started to
answer, excused herself, and blanked the screen. When it lit again a man in
guard's uniform had taken her place.

"You made an inquiry," the guard said, "about Winner Ihjel. We are holding him
here in the hospital, following the disgraceful way in which he broke into
your room."

"I have no charges to make. Will you ask him to come and see me at once?"

The guard controlled his shock. Tm sorry, Winner-- I don't see how we can. Dr
Caulry left specific orders that you were not to be--"