"Metzger-PlanetOfDolphins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Metzger Robert)

"The grass only appears greener on the other side of the hill," said Dr. Cutler.

The door suddenly seemed to shimmer, to twist, and then Ishmael walked through
it.

"The time is now and the place is here," said Ishmael. "There will be four
coming through this door. Wait for the last one. It is his weapon that will be
the key."

Herman just nodded. This was all happening so fast, too fast, but he didn't
really care. He could sense that it would soon be over and that was all that
really mattered. He wanted it done and behind him, wanted no more dolphins and
orcas in his life.

Ishmael turned to his left. He had zero width and simply disappeared. Just then
the door slammed open and the first security guard came running through, pistol
in one hand and walkie-talkie in the other, pressed into his face as he barked
out orders. Herman pushed Dr. Cutler and himself farther into the corner. The
security man raced past them, heading toward the arena exit and the stampeding
riot that was occurring there. Two more followed, dressed in black body armor
and carrying gas-grenade rifles.

Herman got ready, tensed, planted the heel of his left foot against the wall at
his back and waited. He didn't have long to wait. The fourth security guard ran
through the door. Herman launched himself. He hit the black-suited guard in the
side and the both of them crashed into the adjacent wall.

The security guard instantly went limp.

Herman didn't worry, didn't question any of this. This was his destiny, the
whole thing ordained. He was creating the future, saving it for all of mankind.
He pulled the security guard's pistol from its holster, grabbed Dr. Cutler by
the arm and tugged him through the open door.

They bounded down steel steps.

They crashed through a partially opened door.

They stopped in front of a tank.

It was a Plexiglas monolith, twenty by twenty by twenty feet, sitting in the
center of a room filled with glaring lights, row after row of electronic panels,
running, frantic lab-coat types, and more than a dozen security guards
positioned in the scaffolding above the tank.

"Put down your gun!" echoed an amplified voice.

Herman didn't even realize he had the pistol raised. He was staring into the
tank. A Bottlenose hung there, enmeshed in wires and struts, the top of its head
peeled back and its exposed skull plastered with a bundle of twinkling fibers.