"Andre Norton - Dipple 3 - Night of Masks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

should one of their fellows in misfortune take a liking to it.
Nik's right hand came up in a gesture now so much a part of him that he was no longer aware when he
made it. Without actually touching his face, his palm covered chin and nose, masking all that lay below his
large, penetratingly brilliant blue-green eyes. He hugged the wall of the entranceway, giving good room to
two men splashing in from the yard. Neither noticed him as they pushed into the barracks.
Moke Yarn and Brin Peake. In the world of the Dipple, they were solid citizens of a sort. Or should one
correct that? Nik, his hand mask still upheld, searched for a proper term to cover the activities and
standing of Moke Yarn and Brin Peake.
Maybe not solid citizens in the sense used by the free world beyond the Dipple gates. But at least they
had power, and their standing within these walls was firmly based. And since it was undoubtedly true that
the Dipple would continue to be Nik's complete world, its terms of reference must be the ones used in
evaluating his fellow unfortunates - not that either Moke or Brin considered himself unfortunate.
Once there had been no Dipple; once there had been no war. Once - once a little boy had been someone
different, very different. His blue-green eyes held a shadow as Nik stared dully into the slanting lines of
rain. But there had been the war, and all the dispossessed flotsam had been swept up and thrown into the
refuse heaps of the Dipples on many planets - to rot forgotten, as if they were not people at all but
statistics and footnotes in some, little-read history book of a time the free worlds were now working hard
to forget. The war had ended in an exhausted tie, but hate lingered, smoldering under the surface of the
here and now, a hate that -
This time Nik's fingers closed tight against his face. His stomach heaved in a retching spasm. The
furrows of scarred skin were harsh under his touch. He had a mask all right, one out of nightmares and one
he could never put aside. Ten years ago a freighter spacer had been temporarily turned into an escape ship
for a small colony on a frontier world lying within enemy-patrolled territory. That freighter had been
pursued by the enemy and had crashed on a barren moon.
How in the name of the Spirit had Nik survived that disaster anyway? Why had a child with a torn and
burned face continued to live when all those about him had mercifully died? Then - out of nowhere - had
come rescue, men in space armor tramping into the small area of the ship where Nik had cowered almost
witless. After their coming, there was a jumble of impressions cloaked with delirium and pain, the terror
of the unknown. Finally, there had been the hospital here at the Dipple on Korwar. Then - just the Dipple in
which he was always alone.
He dreamed - yes, sometimes he dreamed of a country under another sky with a different tint and a
warmer sun. But was that a real memory or just a dream? He could remember only such small bits after the
crash. His sole link with that other world was the identity disk they had found on him - Nik Kolherne, a
name combined with symbols that had not made sense to any authority here. At first, he had asked
questions of his fellow internees until their reaction to his gargoyle face had driven him into a solitary life
and to the reading tapes.
To a tape, it did not matter that Nik was only human-seeming from eye level to the top of his head with
its tight curls of wiry hair the color of burnished jet. So he had fled into the world of the mind, soaking up
materials upon which his imagination fed, so that he was able to lead another life - one he could summon
up at need, perhaps as vivid as that a haluce drinker knew.
Sometimes nowadays Nik was more aware of that other life than he was of the Dipple, though a ripple
of disquiet came like a half-heard warning now and then to disturb his dreaming. But he pressed that
down, strove to rout it utterly. He had his dream world, and in it he was free! He clung to it passionately.
 The need to return to his fantasy now drove him forth into the rain, and he scuttled from the barracks
to the next building, the supply warehouse. The bored guard at the door did not see Nik flit by - he was an
expert at finding hiding places. Seconds later he reached his latest one, a tiny opening through which he
could squeeze, to wriggle up on some crates and lie on a ragged bit of blanket.
Nik stretched out. The layer of stuff beneath his sharp shoulder blades was not thick, but he was
oblivious to the discomfort. The drum of rain on the roof not too far above him was soothing, and he
closed his eyes, ready to plunge into his dream.