"Rhys Hughes - The Singularity Spectres" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Rhys)

Engineering faculty, shutting up all his spare time in the laboratories. I was aware of his background and
achievements in the discipline, but his dedication was excessive even for a technophile. The majority of
college funds were diverted into that one Department. The Arts and Humanities blocks had to sing for
resources; often with a ukulele during the graduation ceremony. Dean Nutt missed no chance to mock
votaries of the soft subjects. Yet he was still more popular than myself.

Trailing behind him, I returned to my office and started packing my apparatus, wrapping an
etheric-engyscope in a shirt and pair of trousers kept spare to ameliorate accidents with succubi. I went out
for victuals and filled four cases with bread, cheese and bottles of red wine. Razors and a portable
backgammon board augmented my arrangements, together with a toothbrush and electric torch. I did not
take my cigars; I deemed this a fine opportunity to give up. Exhausted, I walked home into the arms of my
latirostral wife. She berated me for something, I forget what, and we passed the evening in shared
disharmony. I neglected to inform her of my intended journey: to prove I was not a bore meant impressing her
with my independence. I went to bed early.

My dreams were original and wildly inventive. I witnessed Zimara in outmoded prison garb, a smock
stitched with arrows pointing downward. He was covered in cayenne pepper and standing on a deserted road,
elevating a thumb as if to beg a lift. A vehicle approached and suddenly I was the driver, pulling up and
winding the window down. Rather than jump inside, he removed his shirt to expose a body constructed from
iron bars, like a cage. Inside his chest was his own ghost, which howled to be set free. I passed him a
hacksaw and he began cutting at the metal. As the final bar fell into the dust, I threw open the passenger
door and beckoned for the wraith to enter. With a joyous cry, it leapt from his torso, but instead of landing
safely, it passed straight through the ground. I heard it dip under the Earth's crust and plop into the liquid
mantle, accelerating to an unknown fate. When its bewildered groans faded, I shuddered and drove off,
reaching wakefulness by dawn.
 A burning sweat slicked my brow. I snapped my eyes open and stilled my timpani pulse with deep
breaths. Rarely an early riser, I nonetheless decided to forgo my pillow and continue my hypogean
preparations. At the Earth's core, the temperature would be excessive and a certain amount of prior
acclimatisation could not go amiss. I steamed myself in the shower for an hour, toughening my skin to the
sulphurous vapours which might be a feature of the descent. After breakfast I headed for college, entering the
library and digesting a shelf of geology textbooks until it was time to meet Zimara again. None of them
mentioned compressed ghosts. I hefted one of my suitcases to Finsbury Park station and found the rogue
waiting outside. He had no change to pass through the turnstiles. For the second time, I paid his fare and we
went down to the cavern. I mentioned my odd dream, but his ears had healed up.

We stood near the escalator and I pushed my suitcase over the side, but before I let it go, he tied one
end of an enormous ball of string to the handle. Then I released the item of luggage and it trundled downward
with its cargo of tasty cheeses. The ball of string began to unravel and I followed the progress of my case with
my telescope until it became too tiny to discern. Zimara chuckled.

"That's the first one. We'll return at the same time tomorrow. I've calculated everything precisely."
Repeating the formula of the previous day, we parted on the surface and I walked back to the college. Once
again, on the Isledon Road, I saw the Dean, but I was careful to avoid catching his eye. I lingered in the
doorway of a shop until he passed.

Where was he going? His lunchbreaks were generally taken up chiding the cook in the staff canteen.
Why had he suddenly taken to strolling in the rain? I wasted an afternoon pondering the enigma and trying to
adapt a camera to take pictures of the aether. It was crucial I gather as many exhibits as possible before
publishing an account of the voyage. I hoped Zimara would not challenge me with his own written narrative. I
returned home in a state of agitation and my wife was animated by this flicker of passion, but not enough to