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

as did his long nose and high cheekbones. They were prominent landmarks rising
from the limp greyness of his skin. Only the erect bristle of his
close-cropped hair was unchanged. He had the appearance of having suffered a
long and wasting illness.

"You look like sin," Ihjel said. "But congratulations on your victory."

"You don't look so very good yourself--for a Winner," Brion snapped back. His
exhaustion and sudden peevish anger at this man let the insulting words slip
out. Ihjel ignored them.

But it was true; Winner Ihjel looked very little like a Winner, or even an
Anvharian. He had the height and the frame all right, but it was draped in
billows of fat--rounded, soft tissue that hung loosely from his limbs and made
little limp rolls on his neck and under his eyes. There were no fat men on
Anvhar, and it was incredible that a man so gross could ever have been a
Winner. If there was muscle under the fat it couldn't be seen. Only his eyes
appeared to still hold the strength that had once bested every man on tike
planet to win the annual games. Brion turned away from their burning stare,
sorry now he had insulted the man without good reason. He was too sick,
though, to bother about apologizing.

Ihjel didn't care either. Brion looked at him again and felt the impression of
things so important that he himself, his insults, even the Twenties were of no
more interest than dust motes in the air. It was only a fantasy of a sick
mind, Brion knew, and he tried to shake the feeling off. The two men stared at
each other, sharing a common emotion.

The door opened soundlessly behind Ihjel and he wheeled about, moving as only
an athlete of Anvhar can move. Dr Caulry was halfway through the door, off
balance. Two men in uniform came close behind him. Ihjel's body pushed against
them, his speed and the mountainous mass of his flesh sending them back in a
tangle of arms and legs. He slammed the door and locked it in their faces.

"I have to talk to you," he said, turning back to Brion. "Privately," he
added, bending over and ripping out the communicator with a sweep of one hand.

"Get out," Brion told him. "If I were able-"

"Well, you're not, so you're just going to have to lie there and listen. I
imagine we have about five minutes before they decide to break the door down,
and I don't want to waste any more of that. Will you come with me offworld?
There's a job that must be done; it's my job, but I'm going to need help.
You're the only one who can give me that help.

"Now refuse," he added as Brion started to answer.

"Of course I refuse," Brion said, feeling a little foolish and slightly angry,
as if the other man had put the words into his mouth. "Anvhar is my planet-why
should I leave? My life is here and so is my work. I also might add that I