"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 01 - A Logical Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

He dashed for the telephone. For the moment, he was in the clear. Von Bern and
his stooges had let this champion escape. He was their responsibility.
Roger shivered. Dealing with the Lord of the Lions always left him shaken. He had
raised the entity by mistake and was stuck paying for his mistake. Only death could sever
his ties with the evil demigod.
Like an echo, that thought reverberated through his mind. Carefully, analytically,
Roger reviewed his conversation with the Crouching One. According to the basic
principles of science, the final result of any operation was guaranteed if the initial
conditions of the experiment were duplicated exactly.
Roger smiled. It was time for him to do some reading. About Moses.

6

W ell, doc," said Jack, only half in jest, "will I live?"
"
"That depends entirely on whether you learned anything from this unfortunate
experience," replied Doctor Nelson seriously. "You were lucky, Jack. Next time, you
might not escape with just a few bruises and a bad headache."
A tall, thin, middle-aged man, Nelson was the campus physician. Though he rarely
smiled, he had a droll sense of humor. His bland features concealed a razor-sharp wit and
a keen mind that rarely missed anything.
"There won't be a next time," said Jack. "I'm not that stupid."
"I hope not," said Nelson. "Though I can't entirely blame you. No one expects to
be assaulted during broad daylight. Not even in this neighborhood."
The university was located in one of the worst sections of Chicago's south side. An
imposing metal fence supposedly sealed the campus off from the streets, but no one really
believed it provided any real security. Campus police did their best to maintain order, but
it was a no-win proposition.
"Tell me about it," said Jack, tenderly rubbing the bump on his head. "I've warned
my students for years about the problem, but it never occurred to me that I might be the
one assaulted. Can I get dressed now, doc?"
"Of course," said Nelson. "You know I have to report this incident to security,
Jack."
"Sure," said Jack, pulling on his clothes. "I was going to head over there right after
leaving here. But I won't argue if you want to fill out the report. Facing Benny Anderson
won't make my headache feel any better. I'd rather wander back to my apartment and lie
down for a while."
"You could use the rest," said Nelson. Anderson was chief of campus security. An
ex-marine, dealing with him was always an effort.
Reaching into a file drawer, the doctor pulled out a police report form. "I keep a
stack of these handy," he said, almost apologetically. "You can't imagine how many of my
patients need one of them."
Careful of every detail, Jack retold the story he had concocted to explain his
injuries. There was more than enough truth to the recital to make it believable.
"A motorcycle gang," said Nelson, sighing. "As if we didn't have enough trouble
around here already. You didn't, by any chance, notice anything special about their
jackets? Many gangs sport distinctive colors or emblems. It might provide the police with
a clue. Not that they'd be able to do much anyway."
Jack shook his head, causing him to wince in pain. "They jumped me from behind,
doc. The only thing I saw was a metal-studded glove that hit me in the face. And a boot