[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
felt the light breeze against his left cheek. All right . . . he'd allow a
hair for windage. He took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger twice, just
as Boater's plastic cup hit him in the face. Both shots went wide.
Whirling, Renn formed the words "You tricked me" in his mind, but bit them
off. Boater had just made another point. Turning back towards the snag, Renn
pointed the .75 as if pointing a finger, and squeezed the trigger fourteen
times. The first two hit the water at the base of the snag, and the rest
walked their way up its length, knocking huge chunks out of the rotten wood as
they exploded. As the last slug left the gun Renn thumbed the magazine
release, allowing the empty to land at his feet, and slammed a fresh one into
the butt. Then he turned back towards Boater. To his surprise the old man was
smiling.
"Not bad Jonnie, not bad. From now on target practice every morning after
breakfast."
As the day progressed, Renn noticed a change in Boater's behavior. For one
thing, he spent a lot of time looking back over his shoulder, and for another,
he kept pulling into little side channels, where he'd shut off the engine and
wait. Renn wanted to ask Boater what was going on but didn't want one of the
old man's sarcastic replies. He managed to resist questioning him for most of
the day but finally his curiosity got the better of him, and he caved in. As
Boater pulled into a small cove and cut the engine, Renn said, "All right,
Boater, what the hell's going on? You've been looking backwards and taking
breaks all day. I thought you were in a hurry."
Boater shook his head in pretended amazement. "Well, I'll be damned. He was
paying attention. So here comes lesson number four. We're getting close to my
lodge. A hunter's lodge is where he lives between trips into the deep swamp.
It's where he stores his supplies, skins, and stink. Knowing that, the Clops,
and others like him, try to follow hunters to their lodges. Once they know the
location they go away. Meanwhile the hunter works his ass off for the better
part of a year, piles up skins and stink, and dreams of the day he'll load up
for Payout. Then, just when he's about to head in, they kill him and clean out
his lodge."
Both men were silent for a moment. Then Renn spoke. "So you've been watching
to see if we were followed. Were we?"
Boater shrugged. "I don't think so. But you can never be completely sure. No
matter how careful you are, if someone wants you bad enough, they'll find you
in the long run. Or just
file:///F|/rah/William%20C.%20Dietz/William%20C%20Dietz%20-%20Prison%20Planet.
txt (25 of 88) [1/21/03 11:23:35 PM]
file:///F|/rah/William%20C.%20Dietz/William%20C%20Dietz%20-%20Prison%20Planet.
txt stumble over you by accident. Either way it adds up to the same thing."
Boater looked suddenly weak and vulnerable in Renn's eyes, and with a sudden
flash of insight, he knew that deep down the gruff old hunter was scared.
Scared that one day they'd come and take the little bit he had. Age brought no
privileges on Swamp. No retirement homes, no government living allowance, no
sympathetic relatives. Only the merciless swamp in which living to old age was
the exception, and violent death the rule. As quickly as the moment came it
was gone, as Boater heaved himself to his feet, and growled. "Well come on . .
. if we get a move on we can reach my lodge by nightfall."
And reach it they did. A few hours later Boater sent Renn into the bow with a
Page 34
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
long pole, and instructions to fend off obstructions. Then he pushed the
steering oar to the starboard, and
Fred made a hard turn to port. With the engine just barely turning over, the
boat slid silently into a narrow side channel.
From Renn's vantage point, it looked like another dead end, similar to
countless others they'd passed along the way, but moments later the channel
opened to the right and became a small bay. A sturdy-looking dock dominated
the bay, and beyond that, he saw a small lodge made of local timber. It
blended into the surrounding jungle and almost disappeared. That, plus the
nondescript channel, would make Boater's hideaway almost impossible to find.
Which is the whole idea, Renn thought, as he used the pole to fend off a
submerged log. A lot of thought and work had gone into
Boater's hideaway. The threat from raiders must be very real indeed.
Fred fit the dock as if it had been made just for him, which it had, and was
soon secured.
As they followed a short path up towards the lodge, Renn noticed Boater was
carrying a short, ugly-
looking energy weapon, and pausing frequently to look around. Then he'd grunt
his satisfaction and move on. In coming days Renn would also learn to look for
the tiny signs which would signal a foreign presence. The flat rock in the
middle of the path with two pebbles on it, the almost invisible thread across
the steps, the piece of wood which should lay just so, and many more.
Finding all as it should be, Boater unlocked the door to his lodge and led
Renn inside.
Moments later lanterns filled the cabin with a yellow glow. Though not fancy,
the lodge did have a warm homey feel, and Boater was visibly proud of it.
There was one big room, which served as both kitchen, dining room, and living
room, plus a separate bedroom for Boater, and a curtained-off corner for Renn,
A back door led out to a substantial wood pile, an outhouse, and a tiny dock
at which a small flat-bottomed skiff was moored.
In answer to Renn's questioning look, Boater said, "That's lesson number five,
lad. Always leave yourself a back way out, and if they have you outnumbered,
have the good sense to use it.
It's better to lose your lodge than your ass. That there's a different channel
than the one we came in on, and there's enough stuff hidden under the seats of
that skiff to get us all the way to
Payout if need be."
Renn remained for a moment after Boater had stumped back into the cabin. As
darkness fell the night sounds no longer frightened him. He was used to them
now. As he went inside Renn decided it was a good omen. For the moment this
would be home.
While Renn unloaded Fred, Boater prepared an excellent dinner, and they ate in
companionable silence. Later, after the dishes were done, they sat before a
roaring fire and told each other stories. It seemed Boater had been something
of a minor crime lord on one of the inner planets. He declined to say on which
one, but some of his adventures were absolutely hilarious, so that by the time
Renn crawled into bed he was happier than he'd been in a long time.
Within minutes he'd drifted off to sleep and started to dream. He found
himself walking the surface of a dark planet. A place where flowers blossomed
only at night, shivered in the pale light of three moons, and hid within their
leaves during the short day. Around him dogs pranced through the twilight on
hind legs and spoke of many things. One in particular caught his attention,
and without choosing to do so, he found himself following her towards the top [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
felt the light breeze against his left cheek. All right . . . he'd allow a
hair for windage. He took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger twice, just
as Boater's plastic cup hit him in the face. Both shots went wide.
Whirling, Renn formed the words "You tricked me" in his mind, but bit them
off. Boater had just made another point. Turning back towards the snag, Renn
pointed the .75 as if pointing a finger, and squeezed the trigger fourteen
times. The first two hit the water at the base of the snag, and the rest
walked their way up its length, knocking huge chunks out of the rotten wood as
they exploded. As the last slug left the gun Renn thumbed the magazine
release, allowing the empty to land at his feet, and slammed a fresh one into
the butt. Then he turned back towards Boater. To his surprise the old man was
smiling.
"Not bad Jonnie, not bad. From now on target practice every morning after
breakfast."
As the day progressed, Renn noticed a change in Boater's behavior. For one
thing, he spent a lot of time looking back over his shoulder, and for another,
he kept pulling into little side channels, where he'd shut off the engine and
wait. Renn wanted to ask Boater what was going on but didn't want one of the
old man's sarcastic replies. He managed to resist questioning him for most of
the day but finally his curiosity got the better of him, and he caved in. As
Boater pulled into a small cove and cut the engine, Renn said, "All right,
Boater, what the hell's going on? You've been looking backwards and taking
breaks all day. I thought you were in a hurry."
Boater shook his head in pretended amazement. "Well, I'll be damned. He was
paying attention. So here comes lesson number four. We're getting close to my
lodge. A hunter's lodge is where he lives between trips into the deep swamp.
It's where he stores his supplies, skins, and stink. Knowing that, the Clops,
and others like him, try to follow hunters to their lodges. Once they know the
location they go away. Meanwhile the hunter works his ass off for the better
part of a year, piles up skins and stink, and dreams of the day he'll load up
for Payout. Then, just when he's about to head in, they kill him and clean out
his lodge."
Both men were silent for a moment. Then Renn spoke. "So you've been watching
to see if we were followed. Were we?"
Boater shrugged. "I don't think so. But you can never be completely sure. No
matter how careful you are, if someone wants you bad enough, they'll find you
in the long run. Or just
file:///F|/rah/William%20C.%20Dietz/William%20C%20Dietz%20-%20Prison%20Planet.
txt (25 of 88) [1/21/03 11:23:35 PM]
file:///F|/rah/William%20C.%20Dietz/William%20C%20Dietz%20-%20Prison%20Planet.
txt stumble over you by accident. Either way it adds up to the same thing."
Boater looked suddenly weak and vulnerable in Renn's eyes, and with a sudden
flash of insight, he knew that deep down the gruff old hunter was scared.
Scared that one day they'd come and take the little bit he had. Age brought no
privileges on Swamp. No retirement homes, no government living allowance, no
sympathetic relatives. Only the merciless swamp in which living to old age was
the exception, and violent death the rule. As quickly as the moment came it
was gone, as Boater heaved himself to his feet, and growled. "Well come on . .
. if we get a move on we can reach my lodge by nightfall."
And reach it they did. A few hours later Boater sent Renn into the bow with a
Page 34
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
long pole, and instructions to fend off obstructions. Then he pushed the
steering oar to the starboard, and
Fred made a hard turn to port. With the engine just barely turning over, the
boat slid silently into a narrow side channel.
From Renn's vantage point, it looked like another dead end, similar to
countless others they'd passed along the way, but moments later the channel
opened to the right and became a small bay. A sturdy-looking dock dominated
the bay, and beyond that, he saw a small lodge made of local timber. It
blended into the surrounding jungle and almost disappeared. That, plus the
nondescript channel, would make Boater's hideaway almost impossible to find.
Which is the whole idea, Renn thought, as he used the pole to fend off a
submerged log. A lot of thought and work had gone into
Boater's hideaway. The threat from raiders must be very real indeed.
Fred fit the dock as if it had been made just for him, which it had, and was
soon secured.
As they followed a short path up towards the lodge, Renn noticed Boater was
carrying a short, ugly-
looking energy weapon, and pausing frequently to look around. Then he'd grunt
his satisfaction and move on. In coming days Renn would also learn to look for
the tiny signs which would signal a foreign presence. The flat rock in the
middle of the path with two pebbles on it, the almost invisible thread across
the steps, the piece of wood which should lay just so, and many more.
Finding all as it should be, Boater unlocked the door to his lodge and led
Renn inside.
Moments later lanterns filled the cabin with a yellow glow. Though not fancy,
the lodge did have a warm homey feel, and Boater was visibly proud of it.
There was one big room, which served as both kitchen, dining room, and living
room, plus a separate bedroom for Boater, and a curtained-off corner for Renn,
A back door led out to a substantial wood pile, an outhouse, and a tiny dock
at which a small flat-bottomed skiff was moored.
In answer to Renn's questioning look, Boater said, "That's lesson number five,
lad. Always leave yourself a back way out, and if they have you outnumbered,
have the good sense to use it.
It's better to lose your lodge than your ass. That there's a different channel
than the one we came in on, and there's enough stuff hidden under the seats of
that skiff to get us all the way to
Payout if need be."
Renn remained for a moment after Boater had stumped back into the cabin. As
darkness fell the night sounds no longer frightened him. He was used to them
now. As he went inside Renn decided it was a good omen. For the moment this
would be home.
While Renn unloaded Fred, Boater prepared an excellent dinner, and they ate in
companionable silence. Later, after the dishes were done, they sat before a
roaring fire and told each other stories. It seemed Boater had been something
of a minor crime lord on one of the inner planets. He declined to say on which
one, but some of his adventures were absolutely hilarious, so that by the time
Renn crawled into bed he was happier than he'd been in a long time.
Within minutes he'd drifted off to sleep and started to dream. He found
himself walking the surface of a dark planet. A place where flowers blossomed
only at night, shivered in the pale light of three moons, and hid within their
leaves during the short day. Around him dogs pranced through the twilight on
hind legs and spoke of many things. One in particular caught his attention,
and without choosing to do so, he found himself following her towards the top [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]