"Julian May - Rampart Worlds 3 - Sagittarius Whorl" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

I flung myself on top of my double, using my weight to pin his flailing arms. Neither
of us was up to snuff physically, but I still had my superior human musculature and knew
how to use it. The regular shocks from my neck implant were now so strong that I was
moaning in agony.
I kept on doing what I had to do.
His struggles weakened and finally stopped. I held the pillow down hard for another
minute or so, then pulled it away. His lips were cyanotic, smeared with blood from his
bitten tongue. The wide-open eyes had tiny points of red dotting the whites, and the
pupils were wide and black. I felt for a pulse in his throat and found nothing. The monitor
continued its shrill distress signal.
He was clinically dead, but they'd be able to revive him. Unless ...
The pain from the neck shocks was becoming unbearable, and I knew I'd pass out
unless I could do something about it. I staggered across the room toward the small
kitchen, scratching impotently at my nape with Halukoid fingers lacking nails. Tore open
drawer after drawer, finally found one with small cooking utensils. What to use? I
couldn't find any knives, which figured.
That! If only it's sharp enough ...
I grabbed it, thrust it awkwardly against the tiny lump, and gouged with all my
strength.
One last bellow emptied my lungs. Then painтАФbut of a new sort, related to torn flesh.
I dropped the melon bailer with its malignant contents on the floor, grabbed up a dish
towel and pressed it against the streaming wound. My blood was very red, very human.
 As his would be, no longer circulating. But the Haluk medics would be able to do
something about that unless I made it impossible.
I dived back into the drawer of kitchen utensils and rummaged frantically, cursing the
absence of sharply pointed implements until I realized that any damage I might inflict
with them would be easily repairable. I had to destroy Fake Helly, and do it within
minutes.
A thought.
The wet bar. Did it have what I needed?
Yes! My blue hand closed over the drink-mixing wand. I stumbled back to the
motionless body. Eyes wide open in death, he didn't feel a thing as I positioned the
implement and bore down with gruesome effect. To my surprise, the eyeball didn't
rupture but simply slid aside. The thin wall of bone behind it crunched and I was through
to the brain.
And activated the mixer's control to the highest setting: STIFF WHIP. Inadvertent
morbid humor there. The efficient little machine didn't even make a mess.
Try to repair that in your dystasis tank, huckleberry balls!
I made the mistake of withdrawing the wand, only to drop the thing on the floor as my
stomach gave a terrific heave and thin bile flooded my throat. Fortunately, my guts were
almost empty because of the dystasis, but it still took me a few minutes to recover. After
all, I'd just done a cerebral puree job on myself...
Enough. Think escape.
I was surprised that no Haluk had responded yet to the medical alarm or to the signal
that had set off my neck-shocker. It was time for me to get moving. Steal a set of clothes,
flee into the alien landscape of Artiuk, or whatever planet I was on.
Better check the weather outside. I'd been on Artiuk only once. The climate was torrid
and subject to heavy rains.
I ran to the wall of draperies, hoping they covered windows, pulled aside the hanging
fabric and uttered a disbelieving expletive.