"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 20 - Web of Sand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

"What you paid for was passage to my next planet of call and
that's exactly what you're getting."

"You—"

"It should have been Fendris," said Dumarest quickly.
Kemmer was about to lose his temper and, once antagonized, the
captain would tell them nothing. He might even use his
laser—Frome was the type. "But in space things can happen,"
continued Dumarest evenly. "The unexpected and the dangerous
and the more so when in the Rift. Is that what happened,
Captain? Some danger you had to avoid?"

"A warp," said Frome after a moment. "We hit one and it
created strain in the generator. To proceed to Fendris would be
to take too big a risk. That's why I headed for Harge." He added,
"We'd have landed by now if it hadn't been for the storm."


The girl was careless, setting down the cup with too great a
force so that the delicate china rang and a little tisane slopped
from the container to puddle in the saucer. A puddle she quickly
removed with the hem of her dress but the damage had been
done and the very act of cleaning the mess had been an affront.
To use the hem of her dress! The action of a common strumpet
in a low tavern or of a slut from the Burrows!

"My lady, will that be all?"

"Yes." Even the thick tones of the girl created irritation. "No!
Take the cup away. The saucer too, you fool! And change into a
clean dress."

And, she thought, for God's sake learn how to act like a
product of civilization instead of an ignorant, stupid peasant.
Words she left unsaid as the girl picked up the tisane and
hurried it from the room. Alone Ellain Kiran stared at the
window.

A swirling brown grayness stared back.

An illusion, of course, the dust didn't possess eyes but always
when looking at the wind-blown grains she could see them; the
eyes of the dead, the eyes of those who would die and were even
now dying. And other eyes, less human, those of the inimical
forces which created the storms, the dust, the death it carried.
The hatred of nature for man and his works. The eyes of a thing
bent on destruction.

And yet, still, it held a strange and tormented beauty.