"George Alec Effinger - The Zork Chronicles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Effinger George Alec)

Guardian Spirit Speaks to Troubled Teens.
The fact that the awards banquet was in the Valhalla Hilton didn't improve his mood. He hated
having to come to Valhalla for these stupid banquets. He preferred the alternating years when they were
held in the Elysian Fields. At least the food was a lot better. Valhalla was cold and gray and blustery no
matter what time of year you came, but for some reason the Campbell Awards banquet committee
always picked the grimmest weekend of the year. It was even grimmer if, like Glorian, you were one of
the anxious award nominees.
Finally, Glorian got his luggage up to the Registration Desk of the Valhalla Hilton. The desk clerk
looked down at him as if Glorian had stumbled into the posh establishment expecting to find a soup
kitchen. "Yes?" said the desk clerk. There was a world of "No" packed into that single syllable.
"Glorian, party of one. I confirmed my reservation three months ago."
The desk clerk riffled briefly through a plastic box of index cards, then punched a couple of keys on
a computer keyboard. He looked up at Glorian with a broad smile of absolute satisfaction. "Sorry, sir,"
he said, beaming, "nothing here at all under that name."
"Having some trouble, young man?" came a deep, booming voice from behind Glorian's left
shoulder. He turned around and was shocked to see one of the supernatural world's greatest and most
influential members, Shiva the Destroyer.
"Well, actually," said Glorian, a little abashed in the great being's presence, "they seem to have lost
all record of my reservation."
Shiva gave a loud hmmph that wobbled the stone columns of the Valhalla Hilton. "Happens to me
all the time, too. I think they get some kind of perverse pleasure out of it. These desk clerk types have no
idea of the kind of afterlife that could be waiting for them." He glowered at the frightened desk clerk for
several meaningful seconds.
"Mr. Destroyer," said the desk clerk in a small, strangled voice, "I seem to have cleared up the
problem just this very moment." He produced a card, had Glorian sign it, and punched a button that
caused a computer printer to spit out a page of information no guest ever read.
"Thank you, sir," said Glorian to Shiva.
The destroyer laughed, causing another frightening rumble in the huge lobby. "I was a young
supernatural being myself once. I remember what it was like. You're Glorian, aren't you? One of this
year's Campbell Award nominees?"
Glorian's eyes opened even wider. He was amazed that such a personage as Shiva the Destroyer
would recognize him. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Well, good luck in the voting, son. But remember what they always say: It's an honor just to be
nominated."
"You bet," said Glorian.
Glorian had picked up his key and luggage and was heading off toward a bank of elevators, when
Shiva's gruff voice stopped him. "You know, quite a number of influential people have their eyes on you.
This weekend could be the beginning of something very important for you, whether or not you win the
Campbell."
Glorian carried his bags up to his room, wondering what Shiva had meant by that. He assumed it
would all be made clear eventually, because that was the way things tended to work out with The
Powers That Be.
The room itself was okay, in a minimal way, although certainly not worth what Glorian was paying
for it. The entire wall opposite the king-size bed was a window, but when Glorian pulled back the
drapes, there was only a kind of opaque, moiling murk beyond the glass, and a few tiny words in the
bottom right-hand corner: This space intentionally left blank. Glorian shuddered and closed the drapes
again.
Except for the bed, there was only a bureau, a chair, a television, and a closet. On the door to the
closet was a framed sign that told him what to do in an emergency. "In case of fire," the occupant was
reassured, "do not panic. After all, you may be invulnerable. If after several minutes you discover that you