"Andrew J. Offutt - Gone With the Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

at plotting, designing his Grand SchemeтАФto be rich and famous at last.
Me? To stay in money, I wrote "The Castle of Brandywine," gagging all the while. I had to cut the
scene in which the hunchback raped the kitchen maid, too.

"The traverser," Ben Corrick told me in that strangely near-breathless way of his, "is ready for
field-testing."
I blinked. "Ready? Really ready?"
He nodded, maintaining his solemnity despite the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that was trying to
tug at each corner of his mouth. "It's really ready, Harve."
"And this time," I said, grinning, practically rubbing my hands together, "you're gonna do it from
inside, hm-m-m?"
"Definitely! The other time there was the explosion, of course, and then the remote failed to work. I
am convinced that the machine did work, and properly. That's why there was no sign of it amid the
debris."
"Um. But suppose something goes wrong, Ben. You're a certified genius. You've got no business
inside that thing before it's tested."
"It's been tested," Ben assured me. "It's lost somewhere, the Mark One. I mean, somewhen."
"And it doesn't have to be plugged in, anymore? I mean, if you want to go back and have a talk with
Ben Franklin, you're going to play hell finding a wall-plug!"
"Of course. And now we hire a truck and take the temporal traverser, Mark Two, out for its
field-test."
"Out?" I gave him a brows-up look. "Out? What do you mean? Out where?"
Ben Corrick smiled his boyish smile and made an uncharacteristically extravagant gesture. "Out into
the open. Into a field, where else?" His watery eyes studied me, waiting anxiously for my reaction.
I saw that, and then I saw his joke. "Field-testing! In a field!" "Of course."
So we got the truck, a big flatbed. And we got a couple of guys to help us load the t.t., although they
were sure we were cracked wide open. We didn't tell them what it was. As a matter of fact we told
them. it was a kloosh; ever heard that old joke?
Then we drove the temporal traverser out into the country, off the highway onto a back road, and off
the back road into a field, scaring the beak off a matronly bobwhite. The field was full of timothy that
rose about halfway up my calves.
I was still frowning, having doubts, prickly in the armpits, when Ben entered the temporal traverser
and buttoned up.
The t.t. Well, Ben had a real brainstorm this time, so as not to be too obtrusive when he materialized
in the distant past or future. Very clever of him, reallyтАФand besides, he needed a power-source at hand.
So he had built the temporal traverser into a yellow VW square-back station wagon. Lots of space in
those things. It could even be driven.
But he wasn't driving it now. I waited, standing well back. Holding my breath, having palpitations.
Staring at that yellow car atop the big red flatbed truck he'd insisted on, just in case the VW couldn't be
driven back. Happy thought! He was certain, he said, that the t.t.. would move from surface to surface,
not materialize elsewhere some five feet off the ground and drop with one hell of an impact. I hoped he
was right. What if he came down on a cow, I thought, and started to yell, andтАФ
The explosion knocked me off my feet. It was the shock more than the shock waves, I feel sure. But
it was a shock, and physical force or not it was just as effective as had it been shock wave. I went down,
and now my heart wasn't palpitating, it was pounding. Once I got myself sort of untangled and looked,
there was the truck. It appeared to be OK.
But there wasn't any VW on it.
"Well I'll be damned," I muttered. "He must have done it. He must be traveling in time. Darn . . . I
didn't even think to ask where he was going. I mean when."
I glanced at my watch. During that glance, the VW reappeared. I stood frozen until he stepped out,