"Philip E. High - Twin Planets" - читать интересную книгу автора (High Phillip E)

"Permit!" The policeman extended a scarlet-clad hand. He had a long,
thinly bitter face and tiny, unpleasantly brittle blue eyes.

"My driving license, you mean?" Even to himself, Denning sounded
hoarse, terrified and almost inaudible.
 "Driving license?" The policeman smiled bitterly with one side of his
mouth. "Friend, I am not here to play jolly guessing games, or indulge in
idle banter. You are inter-zone, between frontiers, and you are not allowed
out of your zone without a permit. You know the law as well as I, so now
that I have wasted valuable time spelling it out for you to avoid a
misunderstanding, you will produce the permit—yes?"

Denning made frantic and helpless gestures with his hands. "I don't
know where I am. I think I lost my way somehow. I don't know what you
mean by a permit or a zone—" His voice trailed away.

The policeman looked at him and smiled. It was a mockingly soothing
smile, and it made Denning go cold inside.

"We are jesting, yes?" The smile was tigerish now. "We are daring and
filled with bravado." The policeman put his hand inside the window and
pointed his finger, the tip of which terminated in a bright metal point. "I,
too, play games. I, too, can be the great comedian." He looked at the other
thoughtfully. "I should burn a small black hole in your right ear, perhaps?
It is an amusing game among jesters, but you would have to keep very still
or the small black hole might be burned right through your head. Shall we
begin now or would you like to produce the permit?"

"Look, I'm very sorry." Denning was almost in tears. "Please
understand—" He stopped. The policeman had thrust his head into the car
and was studying the instruments disbelievingly. "Mother of Sin," he said
in a shocked undertone.

He withdrew his head and walked slowly around the car, studying it.
Twice he kicked the tires, three times he looked underneath, then he
returned. "What, in the name of God, is this thing?"

"It's"— Denning cleared his throat nervously—"It's a Ford Classic."

"Where did you get it—dig it out of a glacier?"

"I bought it four months ago."

"It's a mockup, surely. Let's look at the energy unit."

"Ener—?" Denning understood suddenly and dutifully released the hood
catch.
 The policeman raised it and studied the engine. Naked Sin, it really is a
combustion unit." He strode suddenly to the window. There was
something gleaming in his hand that was clearly a weapon, and his face