"Smith, E E Doc - d'Alembert 1 - Imperial Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

target was covered by the body of the dog. The blaster bolt burned its way uselessly into the alreadydead
animal, while the invader's reflexes helped him recover quickly. After hitting the floor he rolled to his
feet again in one continuous motion, stunner beaming. The fifth guard dropped, as did the second dog.
The man in black was now alone in the room with the safe and the valuable piece of parchment it
contained.
Speed was what counted now. Though he was almost certain that none of the guards had had the time to
set off an alarm, he couldn't afford to bet his life on it. Racing over to the safe, he gave it a quick scan and
learned that it was a combination type, wired all over with alarms. The man worked swiftly to neutralize
the alarms; when that was done, he used magnetic scanners to guide him through the combination.
When the last tumbler clicked into place, he gripped the handle tightly. Opening the safe would probably
set off some sort of alarm, no matter how many he'd disconnected. But that wouldn't matter - once he had
the document, the two personal rocket tubes on the back of his belt could take him out the window and
away from here before any possible pursuit could be mounted. With a sigh of relief, then, he yanked down
on the handle and swung the magnisteel door open.
He had time for just an instant of astonishment as the blaster beam from the ceiling, triggered by the
opening of the door, turned his body to a charcoal powder. The charred remains of the expert agent lay in
a tidy heap in front of the totally empty safe.
The second man was dressed in robes of crimson satin, the long flowing sleeves of which were edged
with three centimeters of white nohar fur - the rarest and most expensive kind in the Galaxy. The satin
draped softly over his tall, spare frame, giving him a majestic - if somewhat satanic - appearance. His red
satin skull cap, embroidered with gold, clung tightly to his thick mane of black-turning gray hair.
He turned his head leisurely as the messenger brought him the decoded note, then held the folded piece
of paper in his hands for a moment, not even bothering to open it. His long, tapering fingers - which were
almost invisible beneath layers of ruby and diamond rings - caressed the smoothness of the paper. He
dismissed the messenger and at last opened the missive. The news it contained brought a smile to his
sharp features - a smile that would have chilled the heart of anyone observing it. The man unconsciously
brought a hand up to his chin to stroke his black goatee as he thought, That's one more, Zander. You
don't have too many left, you know. Then the game will be mine.
He put the note down on an ornately carved solentawood table beside his chair and picked up the large
piece of parchment that had been resting there. In one corner was the colorful achievement containing
three gold dragons on a purple background, a bar sinister and thirteen spots on a field of blood. Idly his
eyes roamed over the wording of the proclamation beneath the crest:
'Be it known to all people of the Empire ... Banion is the true son of my flesh ... Prince of Durward, and all
its dominions ... legitimate heir and successor...'
There was no need for him to read the proclamation in detail - he had long since committed the short but
important message to his memory. Taking the Patent from its special vault was a dangerous luxury, he
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knew, but holding it in his hands gave him such a feeling of power that it could warm even the coldest of
nights.
This, however, was far from a cold night. No matter what the temperature outside, the news of this SOTE
agent's death provided the warm glow of triumph. Handing the Patent to his most trusted vassal to return
to its vault, the man in red stood up impatiently.
Time, he thought. I've waited so long and worked so slowly. I'm not as young as I once was, can 1 wait
until the Plan is finished? Will l live to see that glorious day Mother prophesied?
This room, lavishly decorated though it was with brocade curtains and silken tapestries, was not soothing
enough to the frustrations of his delayed dreams. With long, catlike strides he exited impulsively from the
room. He pressed his hand against the secret panel - which was coded to his prints - and a section of the
wall slid back to reveal a private elevator tube. A cushion of air solidified under his feet as he stepped in,
and dropped him safely and efficiently to a depth of more than fifteen meters below ground level. He left
the tube and found himself enveloped by the eerie dark ness of the Planning Room.