"John DeChancie - Castle 08 - Bride of the Castle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dechancie John)

feral. He was hunched over the terminal of a personal computer, hunting and pecking at the keyboard
with long fingers, eyes fixed on the CRT screen.
"You're probably wondering what `Portals Unlimited' is all about," the kid said.
"How did you know it was me?"
Hochstader stopped typing, looked over at Max, and grinned impishly. "Just a stab in the dark. Thought
it might be you banging around out there. Come on in. I'm ready to help you."
Max sauntered in. Hochstader gestured to a chair, and Max, having nothing really better to do, sat down.
"You're Hochstader? Doctor Hochstader?"
"That's me. Actually, the degree is kind of honorary." Hochstader stopped Max's next utterance with a
raised hand. "You're going to say I look young."
Max shrugged, nodding. No denying it.
"I have one of those faces that don't age. I'm a lot older than I look."
Max studied him. "You can't be any older than twenty-five. What's your degree in?"
"Uh, computer science. Why?"
Max laughed. "And you're a licensed psychotherapist?"
"No, I don't do psychotherapy. I don't have patients, I have clients. And I get results for them."
"Clients, eh?" Max took a sip of Coke, looking around at the office. It was a mess; boxes and piles of
computer printouts littered the floor. Otherwise the place was a shabby dump; but that accurately
described the office building it was in.
"Okay, so you're not a therapist. What about these radical new techniques you mentioned? I have to
warn you, I've seen and done just about everything."
Hochstader resumed typing. "I think I can surprise you, Max. You don't mind if I call you Max?"
"Go right ahead. What is it, biofeedback?"
"Nope."
"A new kind of exercise?"
"No."
"Some new diet?"
"Hardly."
"Drugs."
"Uh-uh. Max, you're never going to guess it. I'll have to show you."
"So show me. But why can't you tell me?"
"Well, my technique involves travel between alternate worlds."
Max choked on his soda.
"Parallel universes, alternate time tracks," Hochstader went on, "call 'em what you will. `Aspects' is what
we in the trade call them."
"Uh, yeah," Max said warily, rubbing his throat.
"Oh, I realize you don't believe me, but if you wait just a second, I'll give you a free demonstration."
Max studied him. This twerp had the look of a highschool dropout. P.Hd., indeed.
Characters danced across the CRT. Presently, Hochstader stabbed a final key and looked up at the
result. "Right," he said. He slapped the desktop, stood up, and strode past Max. "Follow me for a free
demonstration."
Like flies to dung, Max thought. I always seem to attract them. He shrugged helplessly and followed
Hochstader into a dark adjoining office. The twerp walked straight on through to the far wall, where a
curtain hung in an arch. Light came from beyond it.
Hochstader held the curtain open for Max. "Go on in." Max passed through and stopped in his tracks,
disoriented.
He found himself in an immense Gothic chamber of dark gray stone, its high ceiling complexly vaulted.
The place was filled with odd stuff, contraptions that looked like fugitives from a B sci-fi movie. Spark
coils, wheels, banks of switches: the laboratory of a mad scientist.
"What in the world-? Hey, where is this place? Did we walk into the next building?"