"ss - Breath's a Ware That Will Not Keep 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monteleone Thomas F)

"Who's in there with you?"

"I'm not sure. There's a lot of noise . . . confusion. Some technicians, a medic."

"Put one of the techs on," said Barstowe, regaining some of his usual composure.

Cipriano called the closest man over to the communicator. Barstowe said something to the technician, who nodded and reached for the anesthesia switch. Before he threw it, blood spurted from his nose and ears, and he fell away from the console. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Backing away from the console, Benjamin looked out to the Tank of pink flesh. Now the massiveness of the thing took on a new meaning. Within its walls lurked a powerful and angry Intelligence.

The screen was signaling, but there was no one close enough to answer it. Wiping the perspiration from his face, Cipriano edged close to the screen and saw Barstowe's searching eyes. "Get out of there!" the Superior

screamed. "I'm calling back all the emergency units. Get up here right now." The screen blacked out.

Quickly, Cipriano shouldered his way through the crowd of Complex guards and Bioneers and headed for the nearest elevator. When he reached Barstowe's office, he found the man in animated conversation in front of his communicator. Seeing Cipriano, the Superior flicked off the screen and spoke to him: "Chicago Central Computer postulates some kind of limited-range telekinetic power an unexpected variable of the psitraining."

"I thought it would be something like that," said Benjamin. "What do you want with me?"

"You seem to have gotten along with her reasonably well in the past," said Barstowe, pausing for dramatic effect. "And she seemed to leave you alone down there just now."

"And . . ?"

"Get in touch with her again. Try to reason with her. Calm her down. Tell her anything. Tell her that we've capitulated, that we won't abort her brood. Anything, I don't care what."

"I don't understand," said Cipriano.

"You don't have to understand it. Just do what you're told." Barstowe stood up from his desk and faced him squarely. "We want you to divert her attention, keep her occupied until we can rig up a bypass away from your console to the Breeder Tank."

"A bypass? What're you talking about?" Cipriano asked, although he already had an idea of what Barstowe intended.

"We're going to try and shut her down from outside the Complex. Shunt from the Central Computer."

"You mean you're going to kill her?"

"You're goddamn right we are!" Barstowe screamed "Listen, Chicago has postulated what would happen if that thing downstairs could somehow communicate with the other Host-Mothers. If the combined psi-powers of the entire Breeder Tank Area could be coordinated.
their power would be awesome. We can't let some kind of matrix like that materialize. Now get out of here."

Cipriano rode down to his level and returned once more to the console. The entire area was deserted and his footsteps echoed down the corridor adjoining his booth. Barstowe's words were also echoing through his mind. Thought of Feraxya, of the other Host-Mothers, of the men who'd been killed, of the entire nightmarish scene all swarmed through his mind like a cloud of devouring insects. He felt helplessly trapped in the middle of a conflict that he wanted no part of.

He sat down and put on the helmet. As he threw on the proper switch, he could feel her mind lurking nearby, waiting for him to speak. "You've changed, Feraxya," he said finally.

"Why did you come back?" she said.

"I don't know," he lied. "There was nothing else to do."

"What are they going to do with me, Benjamin?"

"I . . . don't know." Again, he lied. And this time it was painful. Adrenaline pumped through him; his hands were trembling. He was glad that she could not see him.