"Chalker, Jack L - G.O.D. Inc 3 - The Maze in the Mirror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

It begins with a crackling noise, and the slight smell of ozone, and then a beam
of remarkably solid-looking blue-white light shoots up from the center, so sharp
and exact that it appears to be almost a pole that can be picked up. It shimmers
slightly, then bends once, twice, three times, as if on hinges, until it is now
a square. In the immediate area there is the sound of heavy but unseen
machinery, and the ground vibrates slightly.
The square appears to fold in upon itself and now there are two squares, then
they do it again and there is a cube, suspended just above the concrete floor
and slightly angled, the sides shimmering and glassy yet impenetrable. Then one
facet shimmers and a figure steps through; the figure of a man ill-dressed for
this climate and this weather. He is of medium height, darkly handsome, and he
is dressed in white tie and tails, including spats, although the outfit looks
not only out of place but rather wrinkled and the worse for wear.
He glances nervously around, then sees the ladder and heads for it, climbing up
with quick and confident purpose as if the demons of hell might pop out of the
cube at any moment themselves. At the top, he's somewhat stunned to see deep
snow and then a high fence, but he does not consider turning around. The spats
will have to get wet.
The cold, raw wind hits him in spite of the protection of the trees, but he is
already studying the fence, Finally he decides, takes off his jacket, and throws
it up so that it lands over the barbed wire. Then he concentrates and leaps,
pulling himself up by his fingers, reaches the top, then falls over into the
deep snow on the other side.
The cube emits more crackling noises, and he picks himself up fast. The jacket
is impaled on the barbs but it's down enough on the outside that he can reach
its bottom, and he pulls on it and it comes free, with an unpleasant tearing
sound. He needs far more than the jacket in this country at this time of year,
but he does not want to leave evidence that here is where he got off.
It's growing quite dark in the winter afternoon, which suits him in spite of the
temperature that might well freeze him and will certainly frostbite him if he
doesn't get someplace warm fast. The snow is less an obstacle for its depth and
chill than for its virginity; perhaps the darkness will hide his, tracks.
Laboriously, the man makes his way through the depths to the open field beyond
and looks around. There is little to see except up on the hill perhaps a quarter
mile away. A large Georgian style house along with a barn, silo, and stables,
lights on both inside the house and floodlighting the grounds is the only
civilization in view. He heads for it as fast as he can, and now he really
begins to feel the horrible cold.
Heading straight for the house in the deep snow takes him a good twenty minutes,
and only willpower is keeping him going at this point. Breaking into the plowed
area in front of the house with its solid packed rock-hard base he trips and
falls, and struggles back to his feet. Only a few yards to the porch, only a few
yards to the door . . .
He makes it, leaning against the door, and pounds on it with what little
strength he has left. For a few precious moments there is no answer, and then he
pounds again, knowing that time for him is running out.
Inside the house a woman's muffled voice can be heard muttering, "Keep your
shirt on, damn it. I'm comin' as fast as I can."
The door opens and he is face to face with a portly black woman of medium height
with thick glasses and a totally confused expression as she sees him.