"George R. R. Martin - Override" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

nestled in the green. He stiffened at the sight of it, and the corpses froze in mid-swing. Kabaraijian
walked around them, and studied the swirlstone node.



It was a beauty; twice the size of the largest stone he'd ever brought in. Even damaged, it would be
worth a fortune. But if he could pry it loose intact, his estimate would set a record. He was certain of
that. They'd cut it as one stone. He could almost see it. An egg of crystalline fog, smoky and mysterious,
where drifting veils of mist shrouded half-seen colors.
Kabaraijian thought about it, and smiled. He touched the node lightly, and turned to call to Cochran.
That saved his life.
The pick sliced through the air where his head had been and smashed against the wall with awful
impact, barely missing the swirlstone node. Sparks and rock chips flew together. Kabaraijian stood
frozen. The corpse drew the pick back over its head for another swing.
Within, Kabaraijian reeled, staggered. The pick swung down. Not at the wall; at him.
Then he moved, barely in time, throwing himself to one side. The blow missed by inches, and
Kabaraijian landed in the sand and scrambled quickly to his feet. Crouched and wary, he began to back
away.
The corpse advanced on him, the pick held over his head. Kabaraijian could hardly think. He didn't
understand. The corpse that moved on him was dark-haired and scarred; his corpse. HIS corpse. HIS
CORPSE!?
The corpse moved slowly. Kabaraijian kept a safe distance. Then he looked behind him. His other
two dead men were advancing from other directions. One held a pick. The other had a vibrodrill.
Kabaraijian swallowed nervously, and stopped dead. The ring of corpses tightened around him. He
screamed.
Down the beach, Cochran was looking at the tableau. He took one step toward Kabaraijian. From
behind him, there was a blur of something being swung, and a dull thud. Cochran spun with the blow, and
landed face down in the sand. He did not get up. His barrel-chested, gimpy corpse stood over him, pick
in hand, swinging again and again. His other corpse was moving down the cave, toward Kabaraijian.
The scream was still echoing in the cave, but now Kabaraijian was silent. He watched Cochran go
down, and suddenly he moved, throwing himself at the dark-haired dead man. The pick descended,
vicious but clumsy. Kabaraijian dodged it. He bowled into the corpse, and both of them went down. The
corpse was much slower getting up. By the time he did rise, Kabaraijian was beyond him.
The corpse-handler moved back, step by slow step. His own crew was in front of him now,
stumbling toward him with weapons raised. It was a chilling sight. Their arms moved, and they walked.
But their eyes were blank and their faces were deadтАФDEAD! For the first time, Kabaraijian understood
the horror some people felt near dead men.
He looked over his shoulder. Both of Cochran's corpses were heading his way, armed. Cochran still
had not risen. He lay with his face in the sand and the waters lapping at his boots.
His mind began to work again, in the short breather he was granted. His hand went to his belt. The
controller was still on, still warm and humming. He tested it. He reached out, to his corpses, into them.
He told them to stand still, to drop their tools, to freeze.
They continued to advance.
Kabaraijian shivered. The controller was still working; he could still feel the echoes in his head. But
somehow, the corpses weren't responding. He felt very cold.
And colder when it finally hit him, like ice water. Cochran's corpses hadn't responded either. Both
crews had turned on their handlers.
Override!
He'd heard of such things. But he'd never seen one, or dreamt of seeing one. Override boxes were
very expensive and even more illegal, contraband on any planet where corpse handling was allowed.