"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 01 - Caverns" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

mirror, plucked at Schwedeker's rags. "And your niece is the President,
right?"
He let his coat fall open; its brilliance filled the front of the bus. "Now you
believe me?"
"Shit, yeah." His tone was awestruck. "Never had a Flinger on my run
beforeтАФhey," he said, suddenly suspicious, "you're a Flinger, how come
you're riding? How come you don't just teleportтАФ"
"Don't know the town," he said shortly. "BesidesтАж I'm retired."
"So what's that got to do with it?" He took a right onto Lorain Road; the
darkened shopfronts, for lack of better entertainment, watched them pass.
"You lose it," he explained. He hunched over and rested his elbows on his
knees. Two bells tolled in the back of his mind, one louder at each stroke,
the other, softer. His heart was running fast. "Not the power, you've got that
forever. Just the, ah, the fine tuning. Set a passenger down above the floor,
instead of on it. Or against a wall, instead of in the middle of the room.
That's the memory, fraying at the edges, not holding the destination pattern
sharp and tight, like it should. They start watching you when that
happensтАж the next thing that goes, the thing they retire you for, is
momentum maladjustment."
"Wha?" asked the driver, as the bus hissed across the bridge.
"Angular momentum,' from the way the planets spin. When you Fling
something, you've got to compensate for the difference. There's aтАжa place,"
he decided, "where we can go to dump some, or to pick upтАФ"
"The Energy Dimension?" The driver, looking into the mirror, shrugged
back at Schwedeker. "That's a name I got from the papers."
 "That's what they call it. But you've got to do it right, and when your
Sensitivity's stuffing your head with staticтАФ" He leaped to his feet, gaped
out the far window, and said, "Hey! Stop! This is it."
"I can'tтАФ" oh, hell, screw the company." The bus whined to a halt; he
manipulated the door lever. "Good luck, huh?"
"Yeah, thanks." He jumped from the top step to the sidewalk, stumbling a
bit, and caught his balance as the bus whooshed away. The bell was much
louder now, but it had been stronger backтАж there. Maybe down that
sidestreet? Damn! Tobbins was coming, too.
He started walking, briskly, clutching his coat closed, feeling his pulse
hammer in his ears. Dreamlike, the sidewalk seemed a treadmill, he was
shuffling down flypaper streets, stride, stride, stride, but he couldn't go
anywhere, he was stuck in the same place, trapped in the dappled shadows
cast by streetlights shining through treetops.
Louder it rang, and louder. He turned the corner, broke into a half run,
wheezing and gasping while his chest tightened and his shins griped. This
house? No, further, a little further, just aтАФ
"Hold it right there, old man," barked a cold voice.
He spun around. Two cops were easing out of their cruiser, their eyes
never leaving him, their fingers fumbling with holster snaps. He groaned.
"GoodтАФ good evening, officers. What can I do for you?"
"Come over here," said the one on the near side, "come over real slow,
and lean against the car, and assume the position."
He started, reluctantly, to obey, but he heardтАФ the high triumphant peal
of a baby gold! And, even as the smile broke dawnlike on his seamed