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Pocomchi. He was still cautious, but felt less and less that any danger still
hid behind the massive yellow rock.
There was no need to state the obvious. He had seen death in Habib's eyes
before the man hit the sand.
"Look, I'm sorry," he whispered tensely. "We'd better try to get out of here."
"Why?" Pocomchi turned anguished eyes on Flinx. When he spoke again, Flinx
realized his question had nothing to do with a reason for leaving the
simiespin.
"We never stole a claim, we made no serious enemies," the little man went on.
His eyes returned to the slim prone form below them. The sand and gravel
beneath it abruptly, uncaringly, changed and became blue grass.
"Three years. Three years we've been grubbing and carving and stinking on this
end-of-civilization world. Three years! Other people hit it big all around us.
But not us, never us." His voice rose.
"Why not us? Why not us?"
Flinx made calming motions. Other patrons were beginning to look in their
direction. The one thing he didn't want now was to be asked unanswerable
questions. Reaching out, he tried to grab Pocomchi by the shoulders, to turn
him toward him.
The moment be was touched, Pocomcbi shook the hands violently from him. "Don't
touch me!" Ire trembled; his voice was full of homicidal fury.
After a moment's hesitation, Flinx sat back on hi,, haunches. While waiting,
he occasionally eyed the yellow massif, which had now become a cluster of
sutro branchings. Pocomchi seemed to calm himself a little. Flinx decided to
wait, despite possible danger to himself, until the tormented
Indian regained a measure of self-control.
So be turned his attention to the corpse at his feet. There was no blood, no
visible wound.
Leaning close, he saw where the needle- tipped wire bad touched. A small hole
bad been made in the back of Habib's shirt. It was blackened around the edges.
The peculiar smell still hung above the spot: ozone.
At least, he reflected gratefully, the philosophical miner had not suffered.
Death had been instantaneous, brought on at the moment of contact with the
needle.
A hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up anxiously, then relaxed. Pocomchi
was standing above him, looking down at the body of his friend. His firm,
assured grip was comfort enough for Flinx.
"I'm okay now, Flinx. It's just that- that " He fought for the words. He
wanted them to be right.
"Habib was about the only man on this world that could stand me, and be was
one of the few that I
could stomach. Three years." Abruptly, he rose and turned to face what was now
a clump of trees long extinct on Earth but still flourishing in mind tapes.
"Come on," he instructed Flinx as he started toward the small cluster of elms,
"I want to see the dirt."
After a last backward glance at the body, Flinx hurried to catch up with the
Page 49
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Indian. "What about your friend?"
Pocomchi didn't look back at him. "He'll lie there until the place closes.
First the management will run their drunk crew through to help out those able
to walk. Then they'll come through again and sweep up the incapacitated.
"Habib would like that, when they find out he's more than drunk. First they'll
panic-probably think it's something toxic that's snuck into their siphon
mixture. Then they'll locate the real source of death, electrocution, and go
crazy trying to find the malfunction in their simie machinery.
"When that doesn't turn up anything," he concluded bitterly, "a few credits
will change hands and they'll give him a proper, if circumspect, burial. The
Church will make sure of that."
They were almost around the grove of elms when the trees became a pair of
enormous mushrooms.
Flinx found himself slowing, putting out a restraining hand. "Don't you think
maybe ...?"
Pocomehi shook his head curtly. "Balthazaar would never have come back if any
kind of threat remained. Nor would your drag, I suspect."
file:///D|/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20End%20of%20The%20M
atter.txt (36 of 93) [2/9/03 10:29:57 AM]
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atter.txt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
Pocomchi. He was still cautious, but felt less and less that any danger still
hid behind the massive yellow rock.
There was no need to state the obvious. He had seen death in Habib's eyes
before the man hit the sand.
"Look, I'm sorry," he whispered tensely. "We'd better try to get out of here."
"Why?" Pocomchi turned anguished eyes on Flinx. When he spoke again, Flinx
realized his question had nothing to do with a reason for leaving the
simiespin.
"We never stole a claim, we made no serious enemies," the little man went on.
His eyes returned to the slim prone form below them. The sand and gravel
beneath it abruptly, uncaringly, changed and became blue grass.
"Three years. Three years we've been grubbing and carving and stinking on this
end-of-civilization world. Three years! Other people hit it big all around us.
But not us, never us." His voice rose.
"Why not us? Why not us?"
Flinx made calming motions. Other patrons were beginning to look in their
direction. The one thing he didn't want now was to be asked unanswerable
questions. Reaching out, he tried to grab Pocomchi by the shoulders, to turn
him toward him.
The moment be was touched, Pocomcbi shook the hands violently from him. "Don't
touch me!" Ire trembled; his voice was full of homicidal fury.
After a moment's hesitation, Flinx sat back on hi,, haunches. While waiting,
he occasionally eyed the yellow massif, which had now become a cluster of
sutro branchings. Pocomchi seemed to calm himself a little. Flinx decided to
wait, despite possible danger to himself, until the tormented
Indian regained a measure of self-control.
So be turned his attention to the corpse at his feet. There was no blood, no
visible wound.
Leaning close, he saw where the needle- tipped wire bad touched. A small hole
bad been made in the back of Habib's shirt. It was blackened around the edges.
The peculiar smell still hung above the spot: ozone.
At least, he reflected gratefully, the philosophical miner had not suffered.
Death had been instantaneous, brought on at the moment of contact with the
needle.
A hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up anxiously, then relaxed. Pocomchi
was standing above him, looking down at the body of his friend. His firm,
assured grip was comfort enough for Flinx.
"I'm okay now, Flinx. It's just that- that " He fought for the words. He
wanted them to be right.
"Habib was about the only man on this world that could stand me, and be was
one of the few that I
could stomach. Three years." Abruptly, he rose and turned to face what was now
a clump of trees long extinct on Earth but still flourishing in mind tapes.
"Come on," he instructed Flinx as he started toward the small cluster of elms,
"I want to see the dirt."
After a last backward glance at the body, Flinx hurried to catch up with the
Page 49
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Indian. "What about your friend?"
Pocomchi didn't look back at him. "He'll lie there until the place closes.
First the management will run their drunk crew through to help out those able
to walk. Then they'll come through again and sweep up the incapacitated.
"Habib would like that, when they find out he's more than drunk. First they'll
panic-probably think it's something toxic that's snuck into their siphon
mixture. Then they'll locate the real source of death, electrocution, and go
crazy trying to find the malfunction in their simie machinery.
"When that doesn't turn up anything," he concluded bitterly, "a few credits
will change hands and they'll give him a proper, if circumspect, burial. The
Church will make sure of that."
They were almost around the grove of elms when the trees became a pair of
enormous mushrooms.
Flinx found himself slowing, putting out a restraining hand. "Don't you think
maybe ...?"
Pocomehi shook his head curtly. "Balthazaar would never have come back if any
kind of threat remained. Nor would your drag, I suspect."
file:///D|/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20End%20of%20The%20M
atter.txt (36 of 93) [2/9/03 10:29:57 AM]
file:///D|/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20End%20of%20The%20M
atter.txt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]