"Robert A. Metzger - Quad-World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Metzger Robert)

Mercifully, he had not moved. He was dead, there was no doubt about that. I hoped.

тАЬShit!тАЭ I managed to scream, just as I launched myself from the wall I was leaning on, bounced off the
opposite wall, and once again hit the floor. I had seen somethingтАФseveral somethingsтАФmove.

Pushing my way up the wall, this time only sitting, I looked at the dead man. He was still dead, but things
continued to move.

The claw that had been his right hand had detached itself and was now crawling across the floor. As I
watched, it jerked and spasmed, and a small cloud of smoke quickly engulfed it. Little puffs of blue
smoke were also rising from his ray gun.

Something else was moving. Where I had ripped off a large patch of wall covering and thrown the goo to
the floor, the torn wall had almost repaired itself. It wasn't that the wall had simply closed the rip. No, by
comparison that would have been far too easy. The goo that I had tossed onto the floor had almost
vanished. Only a small pile of the stuff remained. The rest of it was undulating in a narrow line, like a long
column of ants marching single file, working its way up the wall to fill in the gouge. As I watched, the pile
on the floor grew smaller and smaller and eventually vanished. There was not the slightest indication that
the wall covering had ever been ripped out.

I just closed my eyes and banged the back of my head against the wall. I shivered. Again I could feel my
face flush and my lungs clog. A stabbing pain sliced through my chest with each breath.

Before I even opened my eyes I'd stood, in one quick jerk. Opening my eyes, I ignored the fact that the
hallway had taken on a green tint and was listing back and forth like a boat in a hurricane. I went down to
the end of the hallway and pulled a phone out of the wall.

тАЬGet me out of here!тАЭ I screamed into it.

тАЬSpecify the destination,тАЭ the female voice said sweetly.

I could handle no more of this. тАЬGet that damn red arrow back here, and take me outside of this building
by way of the nearest exit!тАЭ

At my feet the red arrow appeared again, then darted down the hallway in the direction of the spaceman.
I dropped the phone and stumbled forward. Nothing was left of his smoking possessions but little piles of
gray goo. Not a weapon left. Not quite. The pearl-handled pistol hadn't melted.

Bending over, and risking fainting, I tugged at his belt buckle. My fingers felt almost boneless, as if made
of rubber. After I'd tugged at leather and brass, from all possible angles, the buckle finally popped open.
Standing, I leaned against the wall for support, planted the toe of my black boot in his side, and pushing,
rolled him over.
A small little piece of myself, detached and hiding somewhere deep in the back of my brain, wondered
about the black boots that I now seemed to be wearing. I had never owned a black pair of boots. God,
how I suddenly missed those familiar, ratty brown wingtips. Those old shoes seemed a world and a
lifetime away.

My hands, which seemed to be controlling themselves, strapped the gun belt around my waist, managing
to rebuckle it on only the fifth or sixth attempt. The red arrow still pulsed, seeming to patiently be waiting