"Robert A. Metzger - Instrument of Allah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Metzger Robert)

Instrument of Allah
by

Robert A. Metzger

A cracked granite fishbowl filled his view.

The crack ran from top to bottom, less than the thickness of his little
finger. There was no place wide enough to find hold, to climb out: just a
hairline crack to taunt him. Midway between his head and the fishbowl
entrance spun a miniature tornado. In the gray light it glowed a dull
yellow, the grains of sand it held luminescing gently.

Three days. His throat cracked and ripped when he tried to swallow. A
thick tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Itchy eyeballs throbbed.
The dusty wind sucked the moisture from his body. He couldnтАЩt be sure
how much longer he had, but the outcome as inevitable. Death by
dehydration.

The realization that he was dead, only waiting for his heart to stop
beating, hung over him. The unfairness. Lips cracked and bleeding,
throat tearing at the effort, he screamed to the sky.

тАЬWhy, God?тАЭ

His body trembled from the exertion. He held on, eyes shut, palms flat
against the cool rock. The trembling came again, but not him. Looking
into the swirling sand, he watched it shift slightly. The pattern flowed.
Small patches of light danced to the wail of the wind.

The ground Shook slightly. Dusty motes drifted down on him.

тАЬBecause you have been chosen.тАЭ The voice echoed throughout the
fishbowl.

His world turned fuzzy and dark as he fainted away.

#

тАЬCopy Algiers. Arrival 15 minutes. Williams out,тАЭ he said in a crisp,
flawless, slightly American-accented Arabic.

Captain Stan Williams relaxed his throat mike. His hand gently
caressed the yoke. Less than a hundred feet beneath him the Great
Western Erg leapt by at Mach 1.5. He skimmed over a waterless sea.

Then everything stopped. Dead.

There were no turbulents before the flameout, no flaky readings before
the instruments died, no mushiness before the hydraulics froze.