"Heinlein, Robert A - Sixth Column" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

"No, Master, no-we serve the Emperor, as our faith requires. But this thing the Lord Mota Himself forbids. I cannot save you if you offend."
"On the Heavenly Emperor's service-stand aside!" He strode steadily across the broad terrace toward the door, his squad clomping stolidly after him. The panic dread clutched at him as he marched and increased in intensity as he approached the great door. His heart seemed constricted, and a mad longing to flee clamored through him senselessly. Only the fatalistic courage of his training made him go on. Through the door he saw a vast empty hall and on the far side an altar, large in itself, but dwarfed by the mammoth proportions of the room. The inner walls shone, each with its own light, red, blue, green, golden. The ceiling was a perfect, flawless white, the floor an equally perfect black.
There was nothing to be afraid of here, he told himself, this illogical but horribly real dread was a sickness, unworthy of a warrior. He stepped across the threshold. A momentary dizziness, a flash of terrifying insecurity and he collapsed.
His squad, close at his heels, had no more warning.
Ardmore came trotting out of concealment. "Nice work, Jeff," he called out, "you should be on the stage!"
The old priest relaxed. "Thanks, Chief. What happens next?"
"We'll have time to figure that out." He turned toward the altar and shouted, "Scheer!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Turn off the fourteen-cycle note!" He added to Thomas, "Those damned subsonics give me the creeping horrors even when I know what's going on. I wonder what effect it had on our pal here?"
"He was cracking up, I believe. I never thought he'd make it to the doorway."
"I don't blame him. It made me want to howl like a dog, and I ordered it turned on. There's nothing like the fear of something you can't understand to break a man down. Well, we got a bear by the tail. Now to figure out a way to turn loose-"
"How about him?" Thomas jerked his head toward the mountaineer, who still stood near the head of the great flight of steps.
"Oh, yes." Ardmore whistled at him and shouted, "Hey you-come here!"
The man hesitated, and Ardmore added, "Damn it-we're white men! Can't you see that?"
The man answered, "I see it, but I don't like it." Nevertheless he slowly approached.
Ardmore said, "This is a piece of razzle-dazzle for the benefit of our yellow brethren. Now that you're in it, you're in it! Are you game?"
The other members of the personnel of the Citadel had gathered around by this time. The mountain guide glanced around at their faces. "It doesn't look as if I had much choice."
"Maybe not, but we would rather have a volunteer than a prisoner."
The mountaineer shifted tobacco from left cheek to right, glanced around the immaculate pavement for a place to spit, decided not to, and answered. "What's the game?"
"It's a frame-up on our Asiatic bosses. We plan to give them the run-around-with the help of God and the great Lord Mota."
The guide looked them over again, then suddenly stuck out his hand and said, "I'm in."
"Fine," agreed Ardmore, taking his hand. "What's your name?"
"Howe. Alexander Hamilton Howe. Friends call me Alec."
"O.K., Alec. Now what can you do? Can you cook?" he added.
"Some."
"Good." He turned away. "Graham, he's your man for now. I'll talk with him later. Now-Jeff, did it seem to you that one of those monkeys went down a little slowly?"
"Maybe. Why?"
"This one; wasn't it?" He touched one of the quiet, sprawled figures with his shoe.
"I think so."
"All right, I want to check up on him before we bring them to. If he's a Mongolian he should have keeled over quicker. Dr. Brooks, will you give this laddie's reflexes a work-out? And don't be too gentle about it."
Brooks managed to produce some jerks in short order. Seeing this, Ardmore reached down and set his thumb firmly on the exposed nerve under the ear. The soldier came to his knees, writhing. "All right, bud-explain yourself." The soldier stared impassively. Ardmore studied his face for a moment, then made a quick gesture, which was protected from the gaze of the others by his body.
"Why didn't you say so?" asked the PanAsian soldier.
"I must say it's a good make-up job," commented Ardmore admiringly. "What's your name and rank?"
"Tattoo and plastic surgery," the other returned. "Name's Downer, captain, United States army."
"Mine's Ardmore. Major Ardmore."
"Glad to know you, Major." They shook hands. "Very glad, I should say. I've been hanging on for months, wondering who to report to and how."
"Well, we can certainly use you. It's a scratch organization. I've got to get busy now-we'll talk later." He turned away. "Places, gentlemen. Second act. Check each other's make-up. Wilkie, see to it that Howe and Downer are out of sight. We are going to bring our drowsy guests back to consciousness."
They started to comply. Downer touched Ardmore's sleeve.
"Just a moment, Major. I don't know your layout, but before we go any further, are you sure you don't want me to stay on my present assignment?"
"Eh? H-m-m-m-you've got something there. Are you willing to do it?"
"I'm willing to do it, if it's useful," Downer replied soberly.
"It would be useful. Thomas, come here." The three of them went into a short conference and arranged a way for Downer to report through the grapevine, and Ardmore told him as much about the set-up as he needed to know. "Well, good luck, old man," he concluded. "Get back down there and play dead, and we'll reanimate your messmates."
Thomas, Ardmore, and Calhoun attended the Asiatic lieutenant as his eyes flickered open. "Praise be!" intoned Thomas. "The Master lives!"
The lieutenant stared around him, shook his head, then reached for his sidearm. Ardmore, impressive in the red robes of Dis, Lord of Destruction, held up a hand. "Careful, Master, please! I have beseeched my Lord Dis to return you to us. Do not offend him again."
The Asiatic hesitated, then asked, "What happened?"
"The Lord Mota, acting through Dis, the Destroyer, took you for his own. We prayed and wept and beseeched Tamar, Lady of Mercy, to intercede for us." He swept an arm toward the open door. Wilkie, Graham, and Brooks, appropriately clad, were still busily genuflecting before the altar. "Graciously, our prayer was answered. Go in peace!"
Scheer, at the control board, picked this moment to increase the volume on the fourteen-cycle note. With nameless fear pressing his heart, confused, baffled, the lieutenant took the easy way out. He gathered his men about him and marched back down the broad flight of stairs, colossal organ music still following him in awful, inescapable accompaniment.
"Well, that's that," Ardmore commented as the little group disappeared in the distance. "First round to God's chilluns. Thomas, I want you to start into town at once."
"So?"
"In your robes and full paraphernalia. Seek out the district boss and register formal complaint that Lieutenant Stinkyface did wrongfully profane our sacred places to the great indignation of our gods, and pray for assurance that it will not happen again. You want to be on your high horse about the whole matter-righteous indignation, you know-but, oh, very respectful to temporal authority."