"Simon Hawke - Time Wars 02 - The Timekeeper Conspiracy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

in time. And time was running out. He had to let them know, he had to leave a message.
He dragged himself slowly across the floor, leaving a wide trail of blood behind him. With each
movement, more of his intestines tumbled out onto the floor. He didn't bother trying to push them back in.
What was the point? It didn't matter. He was a dead man. Nothing mattered except what he had learned.
After what seemed like an eternity, he had dragged himself over to lean against the chalky white wall
of the tiny apart-ment on the Rue de Seine. Time. If only there would be enough time.... His vision was
blurred. He felt very dizzy.
He had never thought that it would be like this. He had always known that he could die and that his
death could be unpleasant. It was something every agent knew and lived with. But he had never thought
that the end would be so damned un-dignified. They would find him vivisected in a puddle on the floor,
his entrails torn out as though he had been the victim of an augury. Read my entrails, tell the future. Or, in
this case, the past.
 He dipped his finger in his own blood. There was a plentiful supply. Please, God, he thought, just let
me live a little longer. Just long enough to write my epitaph.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. It brought on another coughing spasm.
Fighting the encroaching blackness, Garvin used every ounce of will and strength that he could muster to
keep his finger from shaking. He began to write his last words in his own blood.
Time. In the last analysis, it always came down to time. And Garvin's time had run out. They found
him slumped against the wall, his eyes wide open in an unseeing stare.
Outside, it was morning and the birds were singing songs of spring.

1
What goes around, comes around, thought Lucas Priest. Life was turning into a series of repetitive
experiences. Floating on a cushion of air, the ground shuttle threaded its way across the plaza that formed
the center of the giant atrium that was the Departure Station at Pendleton Base. Lucas bummed a smoke
from the driver. He rubbed the cigarette against the side of the pack, igniting it, then breathed in a deep
lungful of smoke and leaned back against the padded seat. The administration buildings towered
overhead, surrounding the plaza on all sides. Skycabs and cargo ferries filled the air above him as they
followed the traffic patterns, barely avoiding the numer-ous pedestrian cross ways that connected the
buildings.
They passed groups of soldiers who snapped to attention and saluted as the shuttle went by. Lucas
was fairly certain that it wasn't he they were saluting, as much as the staff shut-tle. He saw men and
women dressed in the silver uniforms of Belt Commandos gathered before banks of vending machines.
They were loading up on snacks, cigarettes, and coffee. Sol-diers of J.E.B. Stuart's Confederate cavalry
conversed in animated tones with Persian Immortals about to clock out to fight under the command of
Xerxes. Knights in the armor of Crusaders sat cross-legged on the floor by their equipment, a position
that would have been impossible for them had not their armor been constructed out of flexible nysteel, an
advantage the real Crusaders never had. He saw Spartans in bronze chest armor and red cloaks playing
cards with the black-garbed members of a German Panzer unit. A mixed group of British redcoats,
World War I doughboys, and Japa-nese samurai compared war stories as they passed a bottle back and
forth and listened to the computer-generated voice announcing departure codes and grid designations
over the public address system. One Departure Station looked much like any other and the ride across
the plaza reminded Lucas of Quantico, where it all began.
Things had been different then. He hadn't known what to expect. He had quit his job at Westerly
Antiagathics to enlist in the Temporal Corps because he had been bored. He had fallen for the recruiter's
pitch and he had joined up with grand visions of adventure and romance filling him with delightful
anticipation. That first day, that first sight of a Temporal Departure Station, had been much like this. The
only dif-ference was that now his heart wasn't pumping at what seemed like twice the normal rate and his
breath didn't catch at the sight of soldiers dressed in period, waiting to clock out to their assignments. It
was a familiar sight now. He had been here before.