"Bischoff, David - Night World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bischoff David)

"Why, it's a box, Geoffrey."

"No, no, I mean what the box is made of!"

"Oh. Some sort of dark material, obviously heavy metal..."

"Lead, Oliver. Lead. It's to protect the bearer of the boxes from what's inside." The last two words Turner uttered in a sibilant whisper; a wonderful secret seemed to glimmer deep in his eyes.

"Which is?" Oliver asked, pondering why the man would want to make a gift of something dangerous.

"You can look at it briefly. There's no harm in that. Don't remove it for any length of time, unless you must. You can get the best effect in the dark." He shut the back door, closed the metal shutter by the controls, sad switched off the overhead light. Darkness enveloped the interior. "Now, I'm going to open it for just a second or two." Oliver could hear the small squeak of hinges seldom used. He felt odd, as if involved in some magical rite.

In the dark, something began to shine. Oliver discerned the outlines of the box and Turner's hand against the brightening of that ghostly glow. Then the box was open. It held a cross, one that glowed white in the dark, against a dark velvet pad. The crucifix was almost as long and wide as the box, its nether end tapered to a knife point.

It shone like a star in the sky.

Turner held the box open just for a moment, then abruptly clacked it closed again, winking out the light.

But the searing brightness lingered on Oliver's retina, a ghost-image of a burning, fiery-white cross in the darkness. A chill of some ghostly breeze touched bis spine. He shivered with almost religious awe.

The light snapped back on.

Turner solemnly handed the closed box to Oliver.

The man looked a bit green. A relapse of his hangover, thought Oliver.

"But I thought1 thought that only science and technology were worshiped in this van," Oliver objected, holding the metal box gingerly. "This is obviously a religious implement. What's it for?"

"The shape is merely for psychological purposes." Turner shuddered slightly, shaking off his momentary sickness. "The cross can serve as an effective, hilted knife, which is what is sometimes needed."

"You mean this is one of your weapons against the nightcreatures?"

"Yes. Most especially the vampires." Turner cleared a space on the cot, sat down, and patted a place for Oliver beside him. "You see, this is a very rare metal. It has radioactive properties; it gives off rays which make it glow. Now, when this metal is presented with a nightcreature, let's say a vampire, its rays dig deep into the thing's mechanism, doing much to mar its operation. If you stab a nightcreature in the proper place, you'll render it inoperative. But there is a cost. Frequent and prolonged use means exposure to human flesh, which causes sickness. Use it sparingly, only in emergencies."

"But why have you given me something so precious?"

Oliver asked. "Why not keep it for yourself? Suppose yon run out of the things, and need this one? I don't plan to encounter another nightcreature, thats for sure!" Oliver chuckled uncomfortably at his own joke.

"I'm going to ask you a question, Oliver," said the big man, looking him straight in the eye. "And I want you to think on your answer, don't give me one until you've thought it over thoroughly, all right?"

"Yes. But what?"

Turner held up a hand to silence him, then lowered it, placed his two thick hands together, and kneaded them. Staring down gloomily at the floor, he spoke in dark, sonorous tones: "I am not a young man, Oliver. I am not as strong, as agile, as able as I once was, in my prime. Too, there is difficulty . . . there is" He seemed to have difficulty pushing the words from his mouth. "In plain words, I have a problem. And this mission, this task of mine is almost too heavy, too much of a burden on my shoulders. I need help on this journey, Oliver. I need an assistant" He turned and looked at him soulfully, imploringly. "Will you come with me, Oliver Dolan?"




In the bowels of the mountain, the satyr leaned over its work, selectively soldering, rearranging wires, placing microcathodes, integrated circuits. To date, the bulk of the work on this Project had been effected in the genetic vats and by the mechanical processors. But this was a special project, an experimental Beast. It was the satyr's duty to check and recheck the Computer's product, and add the important odds and ends only nimble android fingers could handle.