"Andre Norton - Time Traders 5 - Firehand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

his heart slamming in his breast. He licked his lips with a tongue nearly as
dry and clutched his weapon more tightly still with hands that already
ached with the pressure of his grip.

If the Baldies came through, they would have a fraction-second only to
beat them back, throw them off balance until the Foanna could bring their
stronger powers to bear. Human enemies could pose an even greater
problem…

The grid formed. It was the well-remembered pattern and proclaimed
that the equipment being used to generate it, at least, had originated with
their own people.
 A single, slender figure took form. The newcomer was small and seemed
shorter still as he crouched down, trying to minimize the target he
presented to anyone waiting to cut him down.

The target she presented. Ross's lips parted in a surprise that would
have been ludicrous had anyone removed their eyes from the gate to
notice him. Although she was technically an agent, this was one of the last
people he would have expected to walk out of the future to collect them.

The woman steeled herself and straightened. "Doctor Ashe, Murdock,
Trehern, in the name of whatever, don't shoot me," she said with only the
barest undertone of uncertainty to betray the fact that she was not
perfectly at ease.

"All right, Miss Riordan," Gordon called out, "come on through… Who
else is with you?"

"No one. I'm it."

Eveleen looked about her and caught sight of the younger agent at once.
"Ross Murdock!" She held out her hand to him. "I am glad to see you
again. Both of you," she added, "but I never had the privilege of teaching
you, Doctor Ashe, and so I don't know you quite as well."

Ross pressed her hand warmly before releasing it. Right then, he
thought she was about the loveliest sight he had ever beheld, or, rather,
Eveleen Riordan and that glorious, functioning gate together were.

Not that the weapons instructor was not beautiful in her own right
with great brown, heavily lashed eyes set in almost too delicately wrought
features and crowned by light chestnut hair that set off perfectly her softly
pale Celtic complexion. She was small and slight, beautifully formed, and
she moved with the grace of a dancer. At this moment, though, it was all
she represented and the fact that hers was a familiar face that drew him
so powerfully, not any physical perfection.

Suddenly, the ease and open pleasure left the newcomer. She stiffened
and whirled to face the three Foanna, her eyes flashing as if in preparation