"Paul B. Thompson - Magic The Gathering - Masquerade Cycle 02 - Nemesis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Paul B)

"Be at the portal at the appointed time. Receive the sample,
and deliver it to Monitor 8391 at Processing Mill 44. You
know the penalty if you fail."
The vat priest maneuvered his bulky upper body around a
steaming flue and was soon lost in the maze of heat
exchangers and lubricant chases.
And so Dabir waited by the open portal-a glowing pane
twelve inches square-for the sample. He could see through
the dimensional doorway glimpses of a world far removed from
the inferno he'd always known. The surface of that distant
place was soil and stone, not oily metal, and living plants
waved in the wind. If the gremlin got too close, the portal
would shimmer, like the air near the mouths of the great
furnaces. Fearful of damaging the ethereal portal, Dabir
kept his distance.
He waited through an entire shift of work, rubbing his
haunches when they numbed from sitting so long. He turned
his back on the portal and laced his taloned fingers through
his yellow-nailed toes, bored as only a vapid gremlin can be
bored.
Suddenly there was a flash of blue light behind him. He
spun and saw the portal had enlarged itself four times. A
hooded figure was running across a plain of tall, dry grass
toward the portal, pursued by a dozen flesh beings. Their
mouths worked, but Dabir could not make out what they were
saying. Sound did not traverse the portal.
Several of the tall beings, clad in painted hides and
feathers, nocked arrows and loosed them at the fleeing
figure. Three arrows struck and bounced off. A fourth found
a chink in the agent's armor and buried half its length in
his back. He staggered, and for the first time Dabir
recognized the hooded figure bore a weighty bundle over his
left shoulder.
"Hurry! Come!" Dabir shouted uselessly. He cared nothing
about the wounded agent, fearing instead his own punishment
if the agent failed to reach the portal. More arrows
flashed. A second broadhead found its mark, and the shrouded
figure fell, pitching his burden to the ground.
Dabir wet himself in terror. He thrust his long arms
into the vibrant portal. A teasing sensation, not
unpleasant, played over his oily skin. The precious sample
was just beyond his grasping claws. Galvanized by visions of
his own lengthy and painful death, Dabir shoved his head
through the dimensional window.
He felt cool air, free of oil or soot. Then came the
shouts of the hunters. An indefinite light from above
dazzled the gremlin's eyes. He reached out for the cloth-
wrapped bundle. His movements seemed slow, as if he were
swimming through thick oil instead of fresh, open air.
His fingers felt oddly numb, and the sensation was