"James P. Hogan - Giants 4 - Entoverse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

respect to the lower. Each leg had a foot in the form of a rocker that was
tipped at one end by the metal mobilium, which was "apathetic" to most kinds
of rock and slid easily over them, and at the other by frictite crystal, which
bound when in contact. It was a fact of nature that all materials possessed an
affinity for each other to a greater or lesser degree, determining how
strongly they were attracted or repelled; thus, depending on the position of
the rocker, the foot would either grip the surface or be repulsed. The whole
thing was an attempt at artificially mimicking the sliding-planting-lifting-
sliding of the leg movements of an animal, such as a drodhz.
Nobody had ever conceived such an idea before -- carts and other
vehicles had always been hauled along on skids of mobilium or something
similar. The mystics who had seen Hyperia told of indescribable, magical
devices capable of performing motions of complexities that defied imagination.
They even spoke of constructions that spun.
"There. Try it now, Thrax," Dalgren said, stepping back.
Thrax pushed one of the operating rods projecting from the assembly.
While one pair of legs remained anchored to the bench, the other lifted, slid
forward one half of a leg-pitch, and then descended in a new position. Then
the rocker mechanism operated, locking the legs that had advanced, and
releasing the pair that had remained stationary. As Thrax pulled the
activating rod back again, the rearmost pair of legs moved past the others in
turn, and reanchored themselves to complete the cycle.
"Yes, that did the trick!" Dalgren exclaimed. "Keep going!"
Thrax moved the rod slowly back and forth several times, and the
contrivance walked its way jerkily across the slab. As it approached the edge,
however, its motion became stiffer and slower, and Thrax had to push harder on
the rod to keep it moving. "It's starting to jam," he said. "I can feel it."
"Hmm." Dalgren stooped to peer at the horizontal guides. "Ahah, yes, I
think I can see why. The main guide is expanding and starting to jam." He
sighed and sat down on a stool. "I'm not sure how we get around it. It may
need an additional compensating liner."
Every problem solved seemed to introduce a new complication. They had
adjusted the device for correct operation early in the morning, but as the
world shrank from east to west under Grakh's kneading, the mechanism's
dimensions had changed. Automatically, Thrax began mentally composing a prayer
to Gralth. Then he checked himself, remembering that those were old methods
that had to be set aside firmly if the new ones were ever to be understood. At
the same time, he felt an inner twinge of discomfort at such defiance of all
his years of conditioning.
As if echoing his doubts, a voice spoke accusingly from the doorway.
"Sorcerers! Blasphemy! These things belong to a higher realm. They are not
meant to be meddled with here in the world of Waroth. That is why the powers
are failing. Just as you are abandoning faith, so are the gods abandoning us."
It was Keyalo, a foster son of Dalgren and Thrax's aunt, Yonel. He was a
couple of years older than Thrax and had resented Thrax's intrusion into the
household ever since Thrax's own family had been lost when Vandros, the
underworld god whose blood ran as rivers of light, punished the Dertelians by
consuming five villages in a lake of fire.
"No one can be sure of that, Keyalo," Dalgren replied. His voice was
curt. Keyalo had never expressed gratitude for being taken in, and there was