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

Farther off to his left he heard the sound of rushing water, and a plan began to form in
his mind. A small river ran nearby, cascading over a cliff and down to this level in a
beautiful waterfall. The man recalled an outcropping of rock over which the water
tumbled; he could hide in the grotto behind the waterfall and pick off his pursuer as he
approached. While far from perfect, the plan offered more hope than merely running
blindly through the jungle-and any hope was something to grasp at.

He altered course slightly, and soon he could see the cliffs rising into view over the
treetops. With an extra burst of speed he dashed out across the small clearing between
the trees and the cliffs, knowing full well he was dreadfully exposed for several seconds.
He could feel the spray from the cascading water hit his face with sudden coolness-and
then abruptly he was behind it, running around the side of the falls and into the small
grotto in back.

He finally stopped, bending over and gasping desperately for breath. There was a stitch
in his left side that felt like a knife stabbing through his ribs; he made an effort to will the
muscles there to relax, and after a few moments the pain eased enough to let him move
around some more. He drew his stunner from his belt and settled into a defensive
posture, awaiting further developments.

In the next few quiet seconds he willed his mind back to the clear coldness it would need
for the fight to follow. Actually, he was rather satisfied with the position in which he found
himself; it was far more favorable than anything he might have dared hope for. The
waterfall in front of him would at least partially obscure him from the view of any
pursuers, while giving him a clear shot at anyone coming into the clearing. Even if his
enemy stayed in the shelter of the trees at the edge of the jungle, he would be at the
extreme limits of blaster range. The cliff behind him was solid; as a veteran of many
fights, he knew well the advantage of a firm wall at his back. He crouched in the
semi-darkness of his hollow, getting progressively damper, and waited.

The stillness descended once more on the scene. Whoever was following him must have
realized the situation and halted just out of sight, still within the jungle, waiting at the edge
of the clearing for him to make his move. The game of patience began again.

This was eerie, the man thought. He knew someone was after him, but he had not had a
single glimpse of his pursuer. It was a silent and deadly game of hide-and-seek-without
rules and without free bases.

Tiring at last of the silent battle of wills, the pirate called out, "I know you're there. Why
don't you show yourself? Or don't you have the guts for a showdown?"

A moment went by while the other considered his words. Then a voice came out of the
jungle-a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, yet the pirate couldn't quite place it. "An
interesting choice of words," the unseen watcher said. "In a way, you're right. By your
definition, I don't have the guts. But I think it's time for a showdown, after alI." And with
that, he stepped forward.

Behind the waterfall, the pirate's jaw dropped. The man coming toward him was a
duplicate of himself, complete in every detail. The walk, the clothing, the