"Джон Варли. Платежное поручение(engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

The scoop. Jennings examined the grill. It was slotted in place. He
moved it laterally and it fell into his hands. No one was watching. He slid
cautiously out, into the room, the Boris gun ready. He was fairly hidden
behind the scoop, and the technicians and guards were all the way down at
the other end of the room, where he had first seen them.
And there it was, all around him, the schematics, the mirror, papers,
data, blueprints. He flicked his camera on. Against his chest the camera
vibrated, film moving through it. He snatched up a handful of schematics.
Perhaps he had used these very diagrams, a few weeks before!
He stuffed his pockets with papers. The film came to an end. But he was
finished. He squeezed back into the vent, pushing through the mouth and down
the tube. The sewerlike corridor was still empty, but there was an insistent
drumming sound, the noise of voices and footsteps. So many passages - They
were looking for him in a maze of escape corridors.
Jennings ran swiftly. He ran on and on, without regard to direction,
trying to keep along the main corridor. On all sides passages flocked off,
one after another, countless passages. He was dropping down, lower and
lower. Running downhill.
Suddenly he stopped, gasping. The sound behind him had died away for a
moment. But there was a new sound, ahead. He went along slowly. The corridor
twisted, turning to the right. He advanced slowly, the Boris gun ready.
Two guards were standing a little way ahead, lounging and talking
together. Beyond them was a heavy code door. And behind him the sound of
voices were coming again, growing louder. They had found the same passage he
had taken. They were on the way.
Jennings stepped out, the Boris gun raised. "Put up your hands. Let go
of your guns."
The guards gawked at him. Kids, boys with cropped blond hair and shiny
uniforms. They moved back, pale and scared.
"The guns. Let them fall."
The two rifles clattered down. Jennings smiled. Boys. Probably this was
their first encounter with trouble. Their leather boots shone, brightly
polished.
"Open the door," Jennings said. "I want through."
They stared at him. Behind, the noise grew.
"Open it." He became impatient. "Come on." He waved the pistol. "Open
it, damn it! Do you want me to --"
"We - we can't."
"What?"
"We can't. It's a code door. We don't have the key. Honest, mister.
They don't let us have the key." They were frightened. Jennings felt fear
himself now. Behind him the drumming was louder. He was trapped, caught.
Or was he?
Suddenly he laughed. He walked quickly up to the door. "Faith," he
murmured, raising his hand. "That's something you should never lose."
"What - what's that?"
"Faith in yourself. Self-confidence."
The door slid back as he held the code key against it. Blinding
sunlight streamed in, making him blink. He held the gun steady. He was
outside, at the gate. Three guards gaped in amazement at the gun. He was at