"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 03 - Lava" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

merged, and he was, once more, one meter ninety centimeters and
ninety-five kilograms, standing on a scuffed tile floor in a small,
white-walled chamber in a busy building on Long Island.
The teleporting was done.
Sort of.
He left his private locker room as the second of four musical chimes
pealed from the building's public address system. He hurried down the long
hall to his Flinger Room; the shift officially commenced in fifty seconds.
"McGill!"
Still moving, he looked over his shoulder. Behind him, leaning half out of
a doorway, was his roommate, Marion Jefferson Greystein. Feighan halted
in mid-stride. "What theтАФ?"
Greystein wore only a bathing suit, black with silver piping; a wet towel
hung around his neck. His curly brown hair was plastered to his skull.
Stubble coarsened his long cheeks. A silly grin on his pale face, he rested a
shoulder against the doorjamb as though he needed to.
Aw, geez, late again! But Feighan went back. "Where have you been? We
were worried."
Greystein drew himself up to his full height, which was nearly Feighan's
though he lacked his roommate's bulk. "I have just discovered a magnificent
way to get laid."
"You're drunk!"
"And rightfully, delightfully so, McGill my young daffodil. For I have
discovered that if you take a cute young thing to a beautiful black sand
beach on a planet so distant that its star can't be seen through even the
mosht acute of Earth-based telescopes, you can ball that cute young thing to
your heart's content. All it takes is to meet her resistance with the shimple
sentence, 'If thash the way you feel, then you can walk home!' "
"Greystein, that's rape!"
 "Isn't everything?" He blinked owlishly. "But I was only kidding,
anyway."
"Jesus, Greystein, sober up."
The other closed his eyes and sagged against the doorframe. "Uh-uh," he
said in a mumble. "If I shтАФ sober up, I'll remember what a prick I was, and
that's something I don't wanna do just yetтАж hey, before you goтАФ"
The speakers mounted in the ceiling boomed: "McGill Feighan, report to
your station. William Abernathy Cole, report to your station. Marion JeffтАФ"
"I have to go," said Feighan.
"No, wait!" He lurched into his Room, and came back proffering a large
parcel wrapped in irridescent paper. "Here. For you. Picked it up on Inta
Leina."
"What is it?"
"A mirror."
"Greystein, IтАФ"
"When you get a chance, open it upтАФlook into itтАФthen turn it around.
Surprise hell out of you, it will, McGill my young daffodil."
"McGill Feighan," said the public address system, "report to your station.
WilтАФ"
"I'll see you later." Feighan took the mirror and moved off.
After him Greystein called, "You can count on it, roomie!"