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

But now he was seeing one in action. Someone wanted to kill him. Someone was trying to do just
that. Someone was using his own corpses against him, by means of an override box.
He threw himself at his corpses mentally, fighting for control, grappling for whatever had taken them
over. But there was no struggle, nothing to come to grips with. The dead men simply failed to respond.
Kabaraijian bent and picked up a vibrodrill.
He straightened quickly, spinning around to face Cochran's two corpses. The big one with the
matchstick legs moved in, swinging its pick. Kabaraijian checked the blow with the vibrodrill, holding it
above him as a shield. The dead man brought the pick back again. Kabaraijian activated the drill and
drove it into the corpse's gut. There was an awful second of spurting blood and tearing flesh. There
should have been a scream too, and agony. But there wasn't.
And the pick came down anyway.
Kabaraijian's thrust had thrown the corpse's aim off, and the blow was a glancing one, but it still
ripped his tunic half off his chest and clawed a bloody path from shoulder to stomach. Reeling, he
staggered back against the wall, empty-handed.
The corpse came on, pick swinging up again, eyes blank. The vibrodrill transfixed it, still humming,
and the blood came in wet red spurts. But the corpse came on.
No pain, Kabaraijian thought, with the small part of his mind not frozen with terror. The blow wasn't
immediately fatal, and the corpse can't feel it. It's bleeding to death, but it doesn't know it, doesn't care. It
won't stop till it's dead. There's no pain!
The corpse was nearly on top of him. He dropped to the sand, grabbed a hunk of rock, and rolled.
Dead men are slow, woefully slow; their reflexes are long-distance ones. The blow was late and
off-target. Kabaraijian rolled into the corpse and knocked it down. Then he was on top of it, the rock
clutched in his fist, hammering at the thing's skull, smashing it again and again, breaking through to the
synthabrain.
Finally, the corpse stopped moving. But the others had reached him. Two picks swung almost
simultaneously. One missed entirely. The other took a chunk out of his shoulder.
He grabbed the second pick, and twisted, fighting to stop it, losing. The corpses were stronger than
he was, much stronger. The dead man wrenched the pick free and brought it back for another try.
Kabaraijian got to his feet, smashing into the corpse and sending it flailing. The others swung at him,
grabbed at him. He didn't stay to fight. He ran. They pursued, slow and clumsy but somehow terrifying.
He reached the launch, seized it with both hands, and shoved. It slid reluctantly across the sand. He
shoved again, and this time it moved more easily. He was drenched in blood and sweat, and his breath
came in short gasps, but he kept shoving. His shoulder shrieked agony. He let it shriek, putting it to the
side of the launch and finally getting the boat clear of the sand.
Then the corpses were on him again, swinging at him even as he climbed into the launch. He started
the motor and flipped it to top speed. The boat responded. It took off in a sudden explosion of foam,
slicing across the green waters toward the dark slit of safety in the far cavern wall. Kabaraijian sighed . . .
and the corpse grabbed him.
It was in the boat. Its pick was buried uselessly in the wood, but it still had its hands, and those were
enough. It wrapped those hands around his neck, and squeezed. He swung at it madly, smashing at its
calm, empty face. It made no effort to ward off the blows. It ignored them. Kabaraijian hit it again and
again, poked at the vacant eyes, hammered at its mouth until its teeth shattered.
But the fingers on his neck grew tighter and tighter, and not all his struggling could pry one loose.
Choking, he stopped kicking the corpse, and kicked the rudder control.
The launch veered wildly, leaning from side to side. The cave rushed past in a blur, and the walls
moved in on them. Then came sudden impact, the shriek of tearing wood, and the short tumble from
launch to water. Kabaraijian landed on top, but they both went under. The corpse held its grip through
everything, dragging Kabaraijian down with it, still choking the life from his throat.
But Kabaraijian took a deep breath before the green closed over him. The corpse tried to breathe
underwater. Kabaraijian helped it. He stuck both hands into its mouth and kept it open, making sure it