"Barry B. Longyear - The Hangingstone Rat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

I rang up Okehampton Camp army base, and reception was scratchy.
Either my phone was having problems or not all government departments
communicate via satellite. As the operator there began passing my call
around from pillar to post by slowest means available, I climbed uphill in
hopes of better reception. As I stood facing the direction of the army camp,
High Willhays and Yes tors visible in the distant haze, a Sergeant Vickers of
the military police came on. A rather long-winded bloke, he was about to do
my head in explaining, with maximum words per bit of information, he had
no notice, knowledge, or note of anything concerning dead bodies of any
kind, type, condition, description, or designation, today or at any other time,
and, moreover, even should it be discovered in some manner at some time
in the future that he hadтАФ

As I tensed, waiting for the fellow to take a breath for interruption
purposes, the earth was pulled from beneath my feet and an enormous
hand of sound, force, and heat rose and swatted me like a mosquito
sending me flying up into absolute blackness.
 Splitting headache. Overpowering silence, my body numb. My eyes
opened to a confusing smear of images. A strong chemical odor stung my
nostrils. Gradually the images resolved into fuzzy clouds, fuzzy hills, fuzzy
sky, and shadows, everything through a stinking gray mist. Pain began
invading my right ankle, my legs, then my whole body. I tried to call Shad,
but I couldnтАЩt hear my own voice. I gently rolled to my right and saw blood
appearing on my right hand and sleeve. Managed to push against the
ground until I was sitting upright, weaving, everything threatening to go black
again. I couldnтАЩt see the cruiser.

My hand rested upon the edge of a very warm rock. I looked at the
stone and it was a largish plate that could have been the twin of the hanging
stone, but bottom side up. Then I saw a fuzzy gleam of silver and realized it
was the self same hanging stone, the scene analyzer apparently none the
worse for wear and still attached to its edge. The rock had landed just a few
centimeters from me.

I looked for my phone and it was missing, probably somewhere
beneath the rock. Tried shouting for Shad again, but still couldnтАЩt hear
myself. Struggled to my feet, standing there feeling lightheaded, a sharp
pain in my right ankle. I looked down and saw to my dismay both shoes and
socks missing, my right ankle swollen, and my right foot at a funny angle.
My trouser cuffs were shredded. While I was staring at that, blood spatter
appeared on my feet. It was coming from my nose. Further exploration
revealed blood coming from my ears as well. Principal flow, though, came
from a cut on the left side of my neck. I held my hand over it and stumbled
down slope toward the stoneтАЩs original location, calling for Shad, still unable
to hear.

Nothing was left where the rat had been. Hanging stone, heather,
grass, soil, rodent, cruiser, and Shad were gone. Steaming hot granite and
that insidious chemical odor were all that remained. I couldnтАЩt think of what
to do.