"Bud Sparhawk - Bright Red Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

Did he really believe that? "The Shardies are going to comb this planet and glean whatever human stock
they can find. Do you know what they do to the people they capture?"

Robbarts sneered. "I seen the news about what they did to them poor troopers. But we're civilians, not
some combat-trained space jockey. They won't bother us. We don't know military stuff."

I couldn't believe Robbarts's ignorance. "The aliens don't care what you know. It's the human thought
processes, the way our minds form associations, our ability to recognize patterns—that's what they use.
They don't give a damn if a brain comes from a soldier, a navigator, or even some dumb-assed farmer!"
As soon as the angry words popped out of my mouth I regretted them.

"Well, I might be a dumb-assed farmer, soldier boy," Rob-barts drawled, "but it's you who's at the
wrong end of this here gun."

"Not exactly," I said as I watched Hunter silently taking out the two forms behind Robbarts. That action
told me the other three had already been neutralized. Hunter is good at what he does—thorough.

"You really shouldn't have said that about Becky," I said calmly. Robbarts's normal human reaction time
was no match for my enhanced speed. I quickly swung the knife edge of my forearm sleeve, and a wet,
red grin grew beneath his chin.

Severing the cardioid arteries releases the pressure and drains blood from the brain. It causes death in
seconds, and slashing his larynx prevented any outcry. Robbarts stood quietly erect for a moment until his
body got the message that blood was no longer flowing to the head and no more signals were coming
from the dying brain. Then he toppled over.

I scooped up Becky and continued. Hunter would destroy Robbarts's head, just as he had the others,
and catch up. I hoped the rest of Robbarts's flock wouldn't waste more of what little time we had left.

While I jogged along, I checked to see where Becky had been hit. It wasn't fatal, so I put a compress
over the wound to staunch the bleeding. It would do well enough until we found the others.

"Where now?" I asked.

Becky stopped sobbing for a moment. "There's a pond down there. It's up the hill from there. There's a
hiding hole near the barn."

So that's how they managed to evade the evacuation search teams—by hiding in a bunker. Hunter had
caught up by then and I briefed them. He directed the scouts to converge on the spot. "What if it's
sealed?" he asked.

"You know what to do," I answered and he smiled. That was the difference between us—he enjoyed
this, enjoyed the danger, enjoyed the blood. When we got within sight of the entrance to the bunker I put
Becky down. "You have to call them out," I said. "Can you do that?"

"They'll shoot me like they did Paw," Becky protested. "I hurt real bad, mister. Can't you do something?"
She was crying.

"Listen Becky, it's really important that I get to those people quickly. I tell you what; if they shoot at you,
I'll punish them like I did Mr. Robbarts, all right?" She nodded, but reluctantly. "Becky, just walk over