"Chapman, John L - Time, Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chapman John L)

weapon that had been meant for the Hordes was going to be used by the Dwellers!
A moment passed and Mulr's bearded face beamed triumph. His thin hands played
experimentally over the controls, while his aids moved back from the tripod
fearfully.
Drawing his gun, Forthmiller got to his feet, let out a yell and ran forward
into the valley. Mulr turned in surprise, forgetting the control box. He reached
for a club.
Forthmiller jumped, skidding roughly to a stop beside the tripod. He levelled
his gun, forgetting that the Dwellers didn't understand his weapon. Ignorantly,
they came forward. He fired a shot, one fell, but they kept coming. Growling, he
gathered the tube in his arms, mounting and all, started back up the hill.
Mulr's aids charged after him, overtaking him at the top of the valley. They
bore him to the ground, tearing his clothes and snatching at the tube. He lifted
his gun, and it was knocked viciously from his grasp. He fought back angrily,
kicking two of them aside and rolling away. They pounced on him again, and
managed to jerk the tube free. He got to his feet this time, and starting
running. A couple of them clung to him, but he wrenched them off vigorously. He
saw the time machine's blurred form before him, and made for it. Safe within its
strong walls, he bolted the door and watched through a heavy glass window.
Part of Mulr's army poured forth from the valley and surrounded the machine,
pounding their clubs violently against the metal walls. After some time they
converged on the door and tried to smash it through, without success.
Forthmiller grinned at them.
The pounding ceased in a short while, and the murmuring warriors trudged back to
the valley. In the glimmering torch light, Forthmiller saw them resume work on
the weapon. Apparently it was undamaged, for in a few moments the murmurings
rose to shouts.
Forthmiller watched helplessly. At length he turned away in despair, his mind
searching frantically for a means of regaining the weapon. He had to do that, or
contact the city, or ....
He thought for a moment. His face brightened a little, and he muttered something
about his stupidness. He snapped on a light above the control panel, and bent
forward anxiously.
A dull, swooshing noise stopped him. He hurried to the window in time to glimpse
the trail of sparks that were trickling back into the valley. He turned. In the
east, an arching fireball reached its zenith and began a lazy drop toward the
towers of the Horde City. The deconite bomb!
Forthmiller made a lunge for the controls. He had a time machine--a means of
travelling through the years or minutes; a means of closing a gap in space,
reaching a destination in an instant. There was a chance ....
Adjustments were rapid. A switch was flung, and things changed outside. The
light of the torches had disappeared. There was moonlight, and a distant stretch
of sand. When Forthmiller went to the window, he could see the Horde city--from
a different angle entirely. A moment ago it had been to the east. It was now to
the west.
Forthmiller withdrew the bolt on the door and dashed outside. He ran directly
for the city.
It was a half hour ago. Forthmiller had moved the machine pastward thirty
minutes, chancing that it might land in another time state and disrupt the whole
situation. He was certain that a brief flight wouldn't have effect. If he was