"David,.Peter.-.Fantastic.Four.the.Movie" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

Reed scowled. "Did anyone even ask you?"
"No. Just figured I'd throw it in for free."
"He's bad news, Reed," Ben continued. "You know it and I know it, and the history we all got together..."
"Is just that, Ben. History. I'm trying to build a future for humanity, and I can't let myself be dragged down by the past in pursuing that endeavor."
"Wow," said Lockley, sounding impressed. "Your friend can be rather pompous when the mood calls for it, can't he."
"You must really not wanna get a tip," Ben said.
The cabbie snorted. "I wasn't holding my breath on that score for a while now." He turned the steering wheel and guided it toward curbside. "We're here."
Ben looked out the window on his side and grunted, "Really? Y' think?"
Craning his neck to see what Ben was staring at, Reed immediately saw the reason for Ben's sarcasm. It was impossible to make a mistake as to what building they were pulling up in front of.
A twenty-foot statue was in the process of being constructed in the courtyard directly outside the towering building. Passersby were stopping to stare at it as Reed and Ben eased out of the cab and Reed dug through his wallet to find the fare. The air was filled with the sound of a welder's torch, hard at work on the statue's gleaming metal exterior. Sparks ricocheted, the welder protecting his face via a clear plastic shield, and the smell of burning metal wafted toward them. Ben's nose wrinkled in disgust, but that wasn't the only thing to be disgusted about by what he was witnessing. "And that cabbie thought Reed was pompous?" Ben muttered as he rocked back on his heels to see the statue more clearly.
The metal display was Victor Von Doom, all right. His chiseled features -- angular, perfect (almost too perfect) -- his determined and no-nonsense stare, the extraordinary arrogance that self-sufficiency oftentimes breeds...it was all there. The statue's hands, already completed, extended some feet away from the twenty-foot-high "masterpiece." Situated between his hands were two intertwined columns of DNA. As far as Ben was concerned, a representation of Von Doom holding the keys of life in his hands certainly played to the godlike attitude he had toward himself.
"I wonder how long it takes to create something like that," Reed said as he watched the sculptor meticulously pursuing his craft.
"Don't see why it should need any more than a day," replied Ben. "After all, Von Doom made the whole world in six days, right? So one statue shouldn't take more than twenty-four hours."
Reed stared at him blankly for a moment, and then forced a smile. "Oh. Yes, all right. A reference to the Book of Genesis. Following through on the concept that Victor Von Doom has aspirations to...godhood, for lack of a better term."
"That ain't a lack. That's the term exactly."
"Very droll, Ben. If making jokes is how you keep your confidence up, then go right ahead."
"I keep my confidence up 'cause I'm confident. Ain't any more complicated than that." He shook his head, troubled over the direction that their endeavors were taking them, but unable to think of anything to say to Reed to discourage him. So instead he simply gestured for Reed to proceed him.
The two of them approached the soaring glass box atrium of VDI headquarters. Sun glinted off the glass, occasionally obscured by passing clouds that likewise reflected off the tower. It made it seem to Ben as if this was more than just the literal definition of a skyscraper. It was as if Von Doom had created a tower that purported to be the home of gods...with its creator, naturally, as the main deity in residence.
"Awe inspiring, isn't it," murmured Reed.
"Awwwww," Ben replied.
Naturally the joke, such as it was, went right past Reed. He was too busy analyzing the building that soared skyward before him. That was Reed's way. He analyzed everything he encountered, oftentimes practically to death. It was one of the things that Ben used to find unspeakably annoying, but he had long since become accustomed to it.
"High open space, exposed structural elements," Reed said appraisingly. "Obviously aimed at first-time visitors to create feelings of..." He cleared his throat and continued uncomfortably, "...smallness...inadequacy."
Ben looked him up and down, saw the small bead of sweat forming on Reed's upper lip. "Good thing it ain't workin'," he said dryly. When he saw that, yet again, his attempts at humor had done a complete flyby, he sighed inwardly and took one more stab at talking his friend out of what he was positive was a destructive course. "Reed, what are we doing here? This guy's fast-food. Strip-mall science..."
"This wasn't our first step, in case you forgot NASA."
Naturally, Ben hadn't. It had been one of the most humiliating meetings of his life. Sitting there with men, researchers, pilots whom Ben had known all his life, had come up through the ranks with. He felt as if they'd been looking at him in judgment, condemning him with their eyes. When they'd slunk out, one of them had come over to him and spoken in a soft, amused voice. The words still rang in Ben's memory: Coming up short again, Grimm. Hanging out with losers. It's become your regular thing, hasn't it.
Your regular thing.
Ben didn't know what a "regular thing" was, but he despised the notion of having it or being it.
Seeing his friend's discomfort, Reed was clearly sorry he had brought the ill-fated NASA meeting up at all. He rested a hand on Ben's shoulder and said hopefully, "And Victor's not that bad. He's just a little..." Reed glanced up at the statue and finished, "...larger than life."
Ben afforded a slight chuckle. It wasn't exactly brilliant comedy stylings, but that was about as close to humor as Reed was ever going to get. Ben felt he should, at the very least, support the attempt. He nodded briefly and they walked past the statue, heading into the sprawling atrium.
"He's financed some of the biggest breakthroughs of this century," Reed continued.
"You'd never know it," Ben said sarcastically, and he pointed. Hanging in the middle of the atrium was a high-tech, projecting orb, displaying footage of Von Doom's many "accomplishments." Anyone who'd read a newspaper in the past several years recognized them almost instantly as one image dissolved into another: the safe, clean nuclear facility that had replaced the antiquated, dangerous one at Indian Point; the prototype car powered by a fusion engine; the world's first privately owned space station, hanging high above the Earth against a starry background.
These accomplishments -- so indisputable that even Ben Grimm had to grudgingly acknowledge them -- were interspersed with photos depicting Victor Von Doom front and center with all sorts of movers and shakers. There he was, glad-handing the President on the occasion of VDI developing artificial stem cells for research purposes; now he had his arm draped around the Queen, after the miniature tracing devices that Von Doom had placed within the crown jewels had retrieved them within half an hour of a daring and politically calamitous robbery. There he was, side-by-side with other assorted international leaders, any number of whom Ben was sure would just as gladly destroy America as visit it. As if that association wasn't disturbing enough for Ben, the image of Victor Von Doom triumphantly hoisting the America's Cup above his head was enough to cause Ben to shake his head and mutter, "Jesus. That, too?"
At the far end of the atrium was a large, rounded marble structure that served as the reception area...or guard stand, depending upon how you chose to look at it. Three receptionists, two male and one female, were waiting there. Again, "receptionist" might have been too delicate a term since they were uniformed and had -- if not guns -- at least Tasers hanging on their belts. Even the female looked like she could probably take Ben apart, and as for Reed, forget about it. She'd probably kill him by spitting on him.
Trying to look undaunted and failing miserably at it, Reed, his voice cracking, said "Reed Rich -- " He stopped, took a breath, and started over. "Reed Richards and Ben Grimm to see -- "
It seemed the receptionist was not interested in learning whether Reed could get through the entire sentence successfully. She interrupted him, holding up a pass for each of them. "Executive elevator, top floor." Von Doom had obviously told her they were coming. Ben wished he could have felt good about that. But he didn't. Instead he was reminded that the spider was always warned when prey was being drawn into its web through the shaking of a few strands. Ben didn't know whether they were welcome guests, or had simply shaken the web so that they'd been noticed.
"What's the price for a smile round here?" Ben asked, trying to look ingratiating. It didn't work. She just stared at him. At least she was merely staring; the guards on either side of her positively glowered. Reed had already taken his pass and, black box filled with presentation materials tucked securely under his arm, was heading for the elevator bank. Ben gulped, forced a token smile, and took the other pass as he hurried past the guard station.
The elevator doors were cold and shiny, similar to the statue. Ben was fanciful enough to imagine them as Von Doom's jaws slamming shut upon them.
No words passed between the two old friends. Ben couldn't even begin to imagine what must have been going through Reed's mind. Actually, that wasn't true. Now that he'd had a little time to "digest" the notion that they were going on hands and knees to Victor Von Doom for aid, he realized how paltry his own sense of frustration had to be compared to Reed's. Reed was ten times -- hell, a hundred times -- the scientist that Victor Von Doom would ever be. But Von Doom was the shrewder businessman by far, and that was what had made all the difference. That was why Victor was surrounded by endless luxury and testimony after testimony to his greatness, while Reed was swallowing what little pride he must have had left and seeking Von Doom's assistance.
Ben remembered how he'd once made a passing reference to Thomas Edison being a scientific genius on a par with Reed, and Reed had just shaken his head and smiled sadly. "Edison's strength wasn't only science, Ben. It was identifying brilliant scientists with tremendous potential. The Wizard of Menlo Park is a figure for the ages, while the great minds who helped develop the ideas are forgotten and gone to dust."
That had been several years ago, before they'd reach this point of frustration. He wondered if Reed remembered it. Then he wondered why he wondered, because Reed Richards was the type of guy who remembered the marks he got in fifth grade social studies. Not that that would have presented any sort of challenge; the odds were huge that all his grades had been "A+" throughout school.
He became aware that Reed was looking at him, and met his gaze questioningly. With a slightly arched eyebrow, Reed said, "Thinking about Edison, right?"
"Awright," Ben growled, "now yer just freakin' me out."
The freaking out of Ben Grimm was not about to stop anytime soon, for the elevator doors slid open and all that met them was blackness.
"So this is what dyin' and going to hell is like," said Ben.
Suddenly some sort of lights began to gather in the middle of the darkness. Reed stepped out, rapt attention upon the glowing, amorphous mass that was coalescing in the middle of a room so dark that it was impossible to get any sense of just how big it was. Filled with curiosity, Ben followed him. He was dimly aware of the elevator door sliding shut behind him, and tried not to dwell on bizarre possibilities such as the floor suddenly dropping open beneath them, all to satisfy whatever perverse notions passed as Von Doom's sense of humor these days.
Suddenly the coruscating light pulsed, drew together as if imploding, and then blew forth in all directions at once. Ben flinched, half-expecting some sort of ear-shattering explosion. Instead it all transpired in eerie silence, which Ben supposed made sense. After all, if this was happening in the depths of space, as the imagery suggested, there wouldn't be any air to carry the noise.
The holographic bits of what would be planets flew past Ben and Reed, and began to settle into orbit. Millions of years passed in seconds, and Ben could pick out the familiar worlds of the solar system as they cooled and revolved around the sun. He put his hand through Jupiter as it whirled past, no bigger than the tip of his finger.
"So tell me, Vic," Ben called out into the darkness, "did it take ya six days to create the universe, like the Bible says, or did ya work on the Sabbath, too?"
"Ben," Reed snapped at him in annoyance.
That was when a familiar voice boomed from the darkness. He did not sound particularly perturbed. He spoke with the easy confidence of someone who did not have to care about anything that anyone said, much less an out-of-work test pilot. "Actually, Ben," came Von Doom's voice with an easy familiarity, "I like to watch the work of a true master every now and then. Helps keep me humble."