"Bruce Holland Rogers - Vox Domini" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

Tireen had liked so much. Mohr felt his body stiffen, his heart accelerate. Tireen. Damn Boursai for that,
for making him think of Tireen.
Summoning all his strength, Mohr lifted his arm to knock the cup from Boursai's hand.
He keyed the communicator to display, "GO AWAY" and to keep scrolling those words across its
screen. Then he closed his eyes and slept.
***


When Mohr woke, Boursai was not in the room, but Mohr could hear him moving outside in the
compound. The wind had come up, blowing so hard that it had to be midafternoon.
Boursai moved for a moment to where Mohr could see him framed by the doorway. The man stood
swaying in the wind like some tall, black sapling. On his back he carried a water tank, and in one hand he
held the dripping nozzle.
Mohr sat up slowly, making the cot creak. His head throbbed, and his body felt like it was made of
rags. He looked around the room. Everything had been ordered, tidied up. Even the litter of empty hexes
by the door had disappeared. Mohr reached into the breast pocket of his fatigues.
There was nothing there.
He patted the pocket to make sure, then pushed himself up from the cot and shuffled to his foot
locker. It was unlocked. He never left it unlocked. He touched his neck, feeling for the string that held his
key. It was gone.
Hands shaking, he threw the locker open. The bag had been right on top. But not any more.
The empty water tank scraped on the ground outside. Boursai came in, ducking through the doorway.
Mohr punched keys on his wrist. Then he shook the word at Boursai. "WHERE?"
Boursai stepped close. Too close. Mohr turned his face away and keyed in, "GET AWAY!" His
hands were shaking. "WHERES STASH?"
Boursai, arms extended as if to catch him, said, "Careful! You shouldn't be on your feet so soon."
Mohr started to key something in, then stopped. This was taking too long, punching one key at a time.
He half walked, half stumbled past Boursai to the com-link sitting beside his sink. He switched it on and
typed in: "If I fall, it's my own business! If I want to god damn take a fistful of hex and god damn die,
that's my own business! Where the hell is my stash?"
Boursai stood just close enough to read the screen. "I took them away," he said. "I put them
somewhere."
Mohr glared at Boursai as he typed in: "I suppose you think you're doing me a favor! I'm an addict.
Hex is something I need!" He held down the word repeat key so that the screen filled with, "need! need!
need! need!"
"I'll give them to you," Boursai said quietly. "I'll give you one a day."
Mohr closed his eyes. His hands felt rubbery. "Thief!" he typed. "What did the prophet say about
thieves?"
"I'm sure you know the words of the prophet as well as I do," said Boursai.
"Did once. Trying to forget such crap. Give me my hexes."
Boursai's answer was a soft, "No."
Mohr brought his trembling hands to his face, then raised them in a frustrated, angry gesture. Why are
you doing this to me?
"All men are brothers," said Boursai.
Mohr spun back to the keyboard. "Bullshit! All men are brothers, the beloved children of God? Hah!
God's gone, Boursai! God's in hiding!"
"It's a wondrous universe, Gabriel. Even if God is remote." Boursai thought for a moment and said,
"Isn't this planet proof to you of God's benevolence?"
Mohr shook his head. He had heard this argument before. Not from Boursai, but from other recruits
to the Planters Corps. Onazuka's World did seem like a Godsend to some. It was a world with an