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

donate me a kiss. I clambered into bed with a feeling of trepidation. As I had feared, the dream came back to
bewilder and assail my chaste subconscious.

I spared my wife the opportunity of laughing at my childish terror. Even Zimara, when I subsequently
confided in him, was dismissive of the nightmare, claiming it revealed naught but my innate fear of success.
"Now you are on the verge of finding what you seek," he said, "the responsibilities of fame seem daunting."
He was also scornful when I mentioned the Dean's anomalous behaviour. There was nothing odd in seeing
him every time I left the station, he insisted. As for the two events being connected, that was simple
paranoia. I declined to argue and we continued to pour supplies down the gullet of the world, though he was
more discreet with his offerings than I, confining himself to providing giant balls of string.

I have never been a great upholder of the benefits of routine. This is not because of any moral objection,
but a wish to avoid hypocrisy. My wife claims I have a haphazard soul, its wispy limbs and organs arranged in
random fashion. This may well be so. I have certainly proven her much quoted maxim that I am incapable of
organising a haunting in a cemetery. Unfortunately, in my case, disorder does not correspond with
excitement. I'm an unrhythmic bore. Yet with Zimara in the equation, my nature began to alter. The days
became systematic but invigorating. My wife permitted me to nearly hold her hand. I guessed when I returned
from the middle of the world, our marriage could be consummated. It was a concept no longer beyond the
borders of imagination.

Always at the same hour, I descended with my guide to the grotto of the escalator. We would arrive just
as the ball of string had played out and Zimara would catch the end up and secure it to the handle of the new
suitcase, simultaneously attaching the end of a fresh ball. Thus was our luggage linked together, as if we
were knitting for the planet an abacus beaded with rations. I bought more cases as instructed, expensive
models with castors. For exactly six weeks this continued and then he commanded me to be ready for
departure. I found it impossible to sleep that night, denying the cyclical dream entry to my lobes. At sunrise, I
sneaked away from my somnolent wife, blowing a farewell kiss. How long before I wiped her formic breath
from my brow again?

I fetched the last suitcase from my office, locking the door behind me. As I skirted the big crevice in the
corridor, a snigger erupted from the basement. I peered into the chasm and saw a dark object flitting far
below. Shrugging my shoulders, I proceeded to the ground floor. I turned off the campus just as the Dean
lurched out from another exit. Dusty and obviously embarrassed by this unscheduled encounter, he gaped
wordlessly at me for a full minute before his eyes alighted on my load. "Leaving us again, mon enfant? You
are playing truant every day now. But perhaps you need to rest before your expedition?" "You're also
guilty of absenteeism," I hissed. "Since cook has been free of your insults, the texture of his orange jellies
has degenerated. A poor example for a Dean to set!"

"The canteen is staffed by fools. I no longer wish to eat there. It is none of your business anyway, mon
enfant." He was plainly stung by my observation. "I have been shopping in my lunchtimes. Like yourself, I am
planning a new project. Rather, I am ensuring the continuation of an old one which is coming under threat."

I was indignant. "Shopping every working day for six weeks? I can't accept you require so many items."

"One item alone, Professor Cherlomsky. A pair of scissors." Dipping into his pocket, he lifted and worked
two shiny blades under my nose. As I stumbled backward, his eyes glinted. "What do you think of them? Is it
not worth extra effort to obtain the best?" Smoothing his moustache with his free hand, he added quietly,
"Take care how you travel. Il n'y a que le premier pas qui co├╗te."

There was something so menacing in this pronouncement that I nearly decided to abort the mission.