"Edmond Hamilton - Exile" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Edmond)

EXILE

by

Edmond Hamilton



I wish now that we hadnтАЩt got to talking about science fiction that night! If we hadnтАЩt, I wouldnтАЩt be haunted now by
that queer, impossible story which canтАЩt ever be proved or disproved.
But the four of us were all professional writers of fantastic stories, and I suppose shop talk was inevitable. Yet,
weтАЩd kept off it through dinner and the drinks afterward. Madison had outlined his hunting trip with gusto, and then
Brazell started a discussion of the DodgersтАЩ chances. And then I had to turn the conversation to fantasy.
I didnтАЩt mean to do it. But IтАЩd had an extra Scotch, and that always makes me feel analytical. And I got to feeling
amused by the perfect way in which we four resembled a quartet of normal, ordinary people.
тАЬProtective coloration, thatтАЩs what it is,тАЭ I announced. тАЬHow hard we work at the business of acting like ordinary
good guys!тАЭ
Brazell looked at me, somewhat annoyed by the interruption. тАЬWhat are you talking about?тАЭ
тАЬAbout us,тАЭ I answered. тАЬWhat a wonderful imitation of solid, satisfied citizens we put up! But weтАЩre not
satisfied, you know тАУ none of us. WeтАЩre violently dissatisfied with the Earth, and all its works, and thatтАЩs why we
spend our lives dreaming up one imaginary world after another.тАЭ
тАЬI suppose the little matter of getting paid for it has nothing to do with it?тАЭ Brazell asked sceptically.
тАЬSure it has,тАЭ I admitted. тАЬBut we all dreamed up our impossible worlds and peoples long before we ever wrote a
line, didnтАЩt we? From back in childhood, even? ItтАЩs because we donтАЩt feel at home here.тАЭ
Madison snorted. тАЬWeтАЩd feel a lot less at home on some of the worlds we write about.тАЭ
Then Carrick, the fourth of our party, broke into the conversation. HeтАЩd been sitting over his drink in his usual
silent way, brooding, paying no attention to us.
He was a queer chap, in most ways. We didnтАЩt know him very well, but we liked him and admired his stories. HeтАЩd
done some wonderful tales of an imaginary planet тАУ all carefully worked out.
He told Madison, тАЬThat happened to me.тАЭ
тАЬWhat happened to you?тАЭ Madison asked.
тАЬWhat you were suggesting тАУ I once wrote about an imaginary world and then had to live on it,тАЭ Carrick answered.
Madison laughed. тАЬI hope it was a more liveable place than the lurid planets on which I set my own yarns.тАЭ
But Carrick was unsmiling. He murmured, тАЬIтАЩd have made it a lot different тАУ if IтАЩd known I was ever going to live on
it.тАЭ
Brazell, with a significant glance at CarrickтАЩs empty glass, winked at us and then asked blandly, тАЬLetтАЩs hear about it,
Carrick.тАЭ

Carrick kept looking dully down at his empty glass, turning it slowly in his fingers as he talked. He paused every
few words.
тАЬIt happened just after IтАЩd moved next to the big power station. It sounds like a noisy place, but actually it was
very quiet out there on the edge of the city. And I had to have quiet, if I was to produce stories.
тАЬI got right to work on a new series I was starting, the stories of which were all to be laid on the same imaginary
world. I began by working out the detailed physical appearance of that world, as well as the universe that was its
background. I spent the whole day concentrating on that. And, as I finished, something in my mind went click!
тАЬThat queer, brief mental sensation felt oddly like a sudden crystallisation. I stood there, wondering if I were
going crazy. For I had a sudden strong conviction that it meant that the universe and world I had been dreaming up all
day had suddenly crystallised into physical existence somewhere.
тАЬNaturally, I brushed aside the eerie thought and went out and forgot about it. But the next day, the thing
happened again. I had spent most of that second day working up the inhabitants of my story world. IтАЩd made them