"William Morrison - Dragon Army" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

of panic, and forced himself to walk slowly.
Outside the plastex hut he forced himself to stop. No use letting Bulkley see how fundamentally
excited he was. For a long time they had been without hope of escape, and now that one unexpected
door away from death had been opened, Bulkley would be in a fever of anticipation. No use letting the
man see the eagerness, the hope which filled Newell himself at the thought of what he had discovered.
As he had expected, Bulkley was sitting at the television set, his eyes glued to the screen. A lithe girl,
clothed mostly in veils of gauze, twisted and writhed against an exotic purple and gold background. The
same girl. This was the kind of educational program Bulkley liked, he told himself with a grim smile. It
was a program that specialized in graphic illustration of the anthropology of alien planets, with occasional
excursions into the anthropology of the dead past. It combined sex with instruction. A fine program, a
fascinating program, a program well calculated to drive a lonely man completely crazy.
Almost incidentally, Newell noted the dancer's face. It was half hidden by the swirling gauze, but he
could see that it was wistful and appealing. Bulkley had probably not even noticed it, nor had he noted
the name of the program chastely displayed on a glowing placard at the right: EXTINCT DANCES OF
EARTH. Bulkley was too busy watching those lithe movements, anticipating the throwing off of the next
veil.
With a feeling of unexpected pleasure, Newell allowed himself to show a small part of the hatred he
felt. As the dancing girl whirled with flaring veils, he reached over and turned off the set. The girl faded
out.
Silence descended on the hut. The rows of transparent metal utensils hanging on the wall, the clothes,
transparent and opaque, neatly arrayed in the closets, the store of precious raw plastex powder in the
stock room, the tiny atomic power plant at the side—all were silent. Silent and tense, as if waiting for a
thunderbolt to strike from the equally silent sky.
The thunder clouds were forming. A blank look spread over Bulkley's face. Then, as he realized to
the full the deliberateness of the act, he leaped to his feet, his hand dropping to his holster. "I'll get you for
that, you lousy space-warped fool!"

THE MAN'S rage was destined to be frustrated, and that made it amusing. Newell smiled, and
dropped into a seat. "Calm down," he said. "I've got something important to say to you. And you'd be in
no condition to appreciate it after watching that program."
"I'll watch what I damn please, you mind-twisted—"
"Easy, Bulkley, or you'll run out of adjectives. And I get tired of hearing you repeat yourself. You
know that you don't watch what you please. You watch what the censors let you. And they'd never
permit the girl to strip off the last veil."
Bulkley was still cursing, more to himself now than at the other man. Newell stared at him, his own
excitement more easily controlled now that he saw what a fool his companion looked like when he was
unreasonably excited. And yet, Bulkley was no fool. He was a shrewd, dangerous enemy, and a false
and treacherous friend. Physically, he was enormously impressive. Tall, wide-shouldered, with powerful
muscles that had been hardened in his work as engineer on numerous planets, he seemed to dwarf even
Newell. He was older than Newell, and—yes, Newell had to admit it—shrewder. Bulkley had been
around, he knew how things were done. Newell was a good biochem man, with a special affinity for
plants. He could almost sense how a plant felt as it grew—and that seemed absurd, because a plant has
no feelings. But Bulkley could sense how people felt.
He had control, too, a control and a will as strong, when he wanted to use them, as Newell's own.
His hot rage was disappearing now, and as it disappeared, a cold and ugly look formed in his eyes. A
cold look in the eyes, a cold smile on the hard face. He said evenly, "One of these days, Newell, I'm
going to kill you for pulling a little trick like that."
"Kill me? You should thank me, Bulkley. All you're building up for yourself by watching programs of
that sort is frustration. You haven't a chance in the world—any world—of seeing a girl like her in the flesh
for a long time. Why tantalize yourself? It only makes your blood pressure worse. And there are no