"E. E. Doc Smith - D' Alembert 7 - Planet of treachery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

past for less serious offenses. Why the charade this time?

None of it made much sense, and the man could not arrive at any answers. All he had
was the unshakeable conviction that he was indeed being followed and watched.

On impulse. he stopped dead. As his ears strained to pick up some indication of his
follower, a chill went up his spine.

There it was, at the very limits of his hearing: the faint swish of another body moving
through the jungle in time to his own rhythm, coming to a stop just a second too late to
avoid detection. It was impossible to tell in which direction the sound had been; it was
gone again almost the same instant he heard it. But he had heard it, there was no doubt
at all in his mind now.

That question, at least, was settled-but it brought a new one to mind: What to do now?
Should he try to go back to the elevator tube, back down to the base and the safety of
his fellow pirates? If his fears about his boss were correct, though, he would only be
running straight into the arms of the enemy. Should he continue on his intended path to
generating station four and hope to find some sanctuary there? But the unseen watcher
had been waiting for him to come up; perhaps there was a trap waiting there ahead of
him, with the watcher following to make sure he didn't deviate.

The options forward and back seemed pretty dismal, and simply standing where he was
left him too exposed. The only recourse was to break from the path completely, head off
sideways in an unexpected direction and hope to catch his follower by surprise.

Being right-handed, his first impulse was to break to the right. Instead, to avoid
predictability, he ran to the left at about a seventy-degree angle to his original path. He
made no attempt to maintain an unsuspecting air; stopping in the middle of his journey
would have already alerted his enemy of his suspicions. Instead, he threw caution to the
winds and ran through the jungle, pushing aside the brush that whipped at his face and
ripped at his clothes.



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The noise that he made as he crashed through the forest was loud in his own ears, as
were his deep gasps for breath; nevertheless, the sounds behind him were unmistakable
now-the sounds of someone, or some group of people, running after him before he could
escape completely.

The barrel of his stun-gun beat against the man's leg with every stride he took, but he did
not dare slow down yet to unholster it, he had a momentary advantage of speed and sur-

prise, and he wanted to keep it. For all he knew, there could be five people behind him,
all armed with blasters. He had to find himself a secure position before trying to pick off
his pursuers.