"Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweawer DOOM: Hell on Earth (english)" - читать интересную книгу автора

gave myself a magna cum laude graduation as her eyes
came into focus and she recognized me.
"Fly? What happened?"
"We've been fighting monsters again."
She looked around the empty corridor and then
back to me. I didn't have to spell it out. "How much
longer can we take this?"
"Not a second longer than we have to."
Arlene started seeing weird colors after thatЧ
auras, shadows, and things she wouldn't tell at first.
Sometimes she would put the tech documents down,
sitting quietly with her eyes shut until the colors went
away.
It scared me plenty, but it terrified her. She was
losing her mindЧand she knew it. So when I told her
the engine was eighty percent finished, Arlene urged,
"Fly, forget the other twenty percent. It's done! Let's
blow this popcorn stand."
I had to be honest. "A.S., there are still a few
systems I don't think are in really good shape."
"We can't wait. We've taken chances with worse
odds than that the whole time we've been on this
rock. Fly, I ... I stopped being able to see color
vision this morning. All I can see is grayЧexcept
when I hallucinate a rainbow-colored aura. And my
peripheral vision is shot." She paused, licking her
lips. "And Fly, there's something else."
She came close and spoke softly, seriously. "I want
to confess something to you, Fly. What would your
nuns think of that? For the first time I'm really afraid.
I'm afraid I might kill you, thinking you're one of the
monsters. I couldn't stand that."
The little voice in the back of my head had whis-
pered that possibility when she first imagined the
pumpkin. It was a chance I was willing to take. Even
so, I was glad she, not I, stated the danger loud and
clear.
I sped up preparations, insisting that Arlene sleep
whenever possible. The air and pressure problems
were getting to me as well, but I handled them better
than Arlene.
Of course, the problem with oxygen starvation is
that you are not the best judge of your own reason.
But the best chance for both of us was to finish the
rocket.
And we were close, tantalizingly close.
I suddenly got the creepy crawlies. I recognized the
symptom: I was picking up the same psychosis as
Arlene. "All right," I acquiesced, "we go in the next
few hours. We have a chance, I guess; eighty percent is