"Alan E. Nourse - The Universe Between" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nourse Alan E)

The Universe Between
Alan E. Nourse

Portions of this book were originally published, in different form, in Astounding Science
Fiction (now Analog Science Fact and Fiction ) in stories entitled "High Threshold" and
"The Universe Between." Copyright 1951 by Street and Smith publications. The novel itself
was published with additional material in 1967 as a Paperback Library Edition.




To John W. Campbell, Jr. in appreciation



Part One
The Door Into Nowhere


тАФ1тАФ



They cut the current the instant the trouble began, switched off the main pumps and broke
into the vault. Half-dragging the man from the chamber, they tried to slap him into silence as
he screamed, cowering and shrieking and covering his face with both hands. Finally a
sedative shot quelled the original attack; the man just sat blubbering in a chair, staring at
nothing, his whole body shaking violently. Then, like the others, he took a sudden breath and
sagged forward. The doctor from the Hoffman Center caught him and eased him down to
the floor. They had the resuscitator and heart-stimulator at hand, of course, but it was no
good. Five minutes later the man's pulse and blood pressure were gone. He was dead.
Dr. John McEvoy twisted the small round object from his clenched fist and examined it
under the arc light: an eight-centimeter ball of rubber, slick and smooth on the outside. With
a pocket knife McEvoy sliced through the outer covering of the ball to reveal the fuzzy down
that lined the hollow interior. Angrily, he tossed the ball to the technician. "There's your tennis
ball," he said.

The doctor was examining the man's body as the rest of the lab crew clustered about.
He looked up at McEvoy and spread his hands. "The same as the other two," he said
hopelessly. "No marks, no nothing. And the post-mortem won't tell us anything more. Total
cardiovascular collapse, with cardiac arrest. Maybe adrenal exhaustion, though I don't see
how a psychic trauma could get to the endocrine function so fast."
 "Oh, come on, Doc," McEvoy snapped. "Translate it."

"The man died of fear. Or shock. Or both."
McEvoy clenched a heavy fist. "Same wretched thing again, then." He turned away,
slamming the fist into his other hand. As director of this whole branch of research in the
sprawling Telcom Laboratories, John McEvoy had been trapped in the middle from the
beginning. It was his responsibility, even though some of the bright-eyed boys on his staff
had actually started the thing. He turned to his assistant. "Well, what about it? Where do we