"Wilson, Richard - Transitory Island" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Richard)

He dragged one to the edge of the platform. It was heavier than he expected, but
he managed to set it on the moving cogs.
It sped down the incline at a rate that made Doug step back in alarm. He
noticed, however, that when the cube disappeared through the aperture at the
lower end of the room, there was enough clearance to prevent anyone who might be
foolish enough to sit on top of one of the cubes from being injured--which was
what he proposed to do.
He saw no other way of descent short of a hundred foot drop to a hard floor--and
he didn't relish the thought of going back to the "island's" surface . . .
alone.
DOUG PELTON had been to Coney Island, but the concessionaires there would have
writhed in envious agony if confronted with a ride such as he was now
experiencing.
After the initial swoop down through the machine room, Doug, lying belly down on
the side of the cube, his hands tightly clutching the handle, was whisked into a
tunnel whose blackness seemed eternal. His head between his arms, legs
outstretched behind him, Doug feared imminent dismemberment.
The only sound was a clackety-clack as the cube sped over the cogs and the
whistling of a warm wind past his ears. Echoes were thrown back from all sides.
After what seemed an interminable period of time, a square of light appeared
ahead and above. The cogs, reflecting the light, curved upward to meet it. The
cube's tornado-like pace slackened as it emerged into something rather closely
resembling a subway station, with an enormous door at one side.
The cube clacked on in a crawl. Doug forced his trembling body onto the
platform, where he sat for a moment, too weak to move.
He turned his head as he heard running footsteps. Art Murray, the pilot, was
hurrying toward him.
"For God's sake, Pelton," he cried, "did they get you, too?"
Doug expelled a sigh of relief. He noticed that Murray was fully clothed and
dry.
"Hello!" he said--then: "What do you mean, they?"
Murray pointed to the cube that was vanishing into the tunnel at the far end of
the platform.
"Those things. Those--silver safes--with arms."
Doug shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know what you're talking about.
What arms?" He got to his feet.
"I was taking a stroll on the island last night," explained Murray. "It felt
good to be able to walk around after being cooped up in a plane for hours at a
time. Then there was a click ahead of me and a trapdoor opened. One of
those--robots stuck his head through and grabbed me. It got me down inside
before I managed to get at my gun and smash its eye. Then it died, I guess. I've
been wanderin' around ever since."
The immense door at the side of the platform opened. Murray groaned.
"See what I mean?"
In the doorway stood--on tentacle-like, silver legs--a cube such as Doug had
ridden along the cogs. The "handle" glowed, eye-like, with a red, intelligent
gleam. Two more tentacles emerged from the upper corners of the cube and weaved
about, like powerful multiple-jointed arms.
"Good grief!" gasped Doug, staring fascinated at the gleaming eye.
"See what I mean?" repeated Murray. "They're alive!"