"Michael Swanwick - Trojan Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

Elin turned, twisted, fell. She scrambled across the ground and threw her arms around Tory.



The air was in turmoil. The holes in the dome roof-small at first-grew as more of the dome flaked away,
subjected to stresses it wasn't designed to take. An uncanny whistling grew to a screech, then a scream,
and then there was an all-encompassing whoomph, and the dome shattered.



Elin was flung upward, torn away from Tory, painfully flung high and away. All the crater was in motion,
the rocks tearing out of the floor, the trees splintering upward, the lake exploding into steam.



The screaming died-the air was gone. Elin's ears rang furiously, and her skin stung everywhere. Pressure
grew within her, the desire of her blood to mate with the vacuum, and Elin realized that she was about to
die.



A quiet voice said: This must not be.



Time stopped.



Elin hung suspended between moon and death. The shards and fragments of an instant past crystallized
and shifted. The world became not misty, exactly, but apositional. Both it and she grew tentative,
possibilities rather than actual things.



Come be God with me now, Coral said, but not to Elin.



Tory's presence flooded the soupy uncertainty, a vast and powerful thing, but wrong somehow, twisted.
But even as Elin felt this, there was a change within him, a sloughing off of identity, and he seemed to
straighten, to heal.



All around, the world began to grow more numinous, more real. Elin felt tugged in five directions at
once. Tory's pres-ence swelled briefly, then dwindled, became a spark, less than a spark, nothing.
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html