"Philip E. High - Butterfly Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (High Phillip E)

His captor smiled. “Well, go on, run after him, tell him that a familiar local business man has a gun pointed
straight at your guts. Another lesson, Maynard, one I don't have to spell out for you. Look around you,
all these people, but which one can you trust, which one is not watching?"

Maynard, cold inside, took another drag at the half-smoked cigarette and stared at a world which had
suddenly become hostile. What the man had said was probably true, the elderly man apparently half
asleep on a nearby bench, the strolling youth with his hands in his pockets, both could be enemies. Then
there was the tall man contemplating the flower bed, the young couple approaching with the baby-float.
No hardly, not with a baby, but one never could tell. They looked like normal people leading normal lives
and, as they drew level, he could hear them talking animatedly—It was then that the man spun the
baby-float and thrust it suddenly forwards so that it crashed against the bench between Maynard and his
captor. At the same time, something flashed in the woman's hand. His jailer half rose and fell back limply
with his mouth open.
His rescuer—if rescuer he was—was beside him in one stride. “All right, Maynard, up. We haven't much
time—this way."

They almost dragged him away from the trees and, as they did so, something descended from the sky
and stood there whispering about a foot above the grass.

"In!"Hands swifter and stronger than his own, lifted him and thrust him bodily through the door. He was
aware of them, leaping in behind him, the slamming of the door and a sudden heart-stopping ascent which
gradually slowed before he lost consciousness.

He looked about him, saw that he was in what appeared to be a normal air-taxi and struggled shakily
from the floor to the nearest seat.

“Close,” said the woman, “nicely timed and well executed but too close for comfort.” Maynard saw that
she was quite striking in a gaunt but rather strained kind of way.

“Aren't they all?” The man was fair-haired, short, broad-shouldered with fair skin sun-bronzed almost to
blackness.

He looked directly at Maynard, extracted something from his pocket and held it out for inspection.
“Right, you can relax, police, Special Branch. You are, within somewhat tenuous limits, safe now—safe
and committed. How do you feel about your change of status?"

“Eh?"

“Sorry, I see by your expression that you don't follow. You were a neutral, now you are a combatant but
I'll explain that as we go along. In the meantime, we'd like to hear your story."

Maynard told it.

“Ah, so that's the reason. One of our monitors picked up your escape and, since you were not a member
of the opposition, we reasoned that you must be important to them. Anyone important to them is
important to us, hence the rescue act. We'll have your psych-tapes thoroughly checked.” He extended
his hand. “Call me Dawnson, my partner is Maureen, no one ever calls her anything else."

“Charmed. In the meantime, I'd like to know what's going on."