"Jerry Davis - The Code of the Beast" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

As he relaxed the image solidified, became three-dimensional. He
was entering dream-state, but with the aid of the Mataphin drug he
was not losing consciousness.
I'm almost there, he thought.
Saul watched the ball rolling through iridescent red and
black landscapes; through oddly symmetrical forests where the
leaves shone like neon; through glassy, shimmering shores where


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all the rocks had perfectly flat tops where moisture collected in
tiny, glowing beads. Perfect images, flawless movements as
graceful as running water. I'm there, he thought. I'm there. He
moved his hand in slow motion toward the recorder in his pocket,
the input plugged right into the base of his skull. His finger
touched the record button.
There was a sudden scream, a sound as loud as an air-raid
siren. Saul's body jerked and his eyes opened wide. He felt as if
someone had hit him over the head with a chair. "Mirro!" he
yelled. "Mirrrrooo!" No one answered him, and the baby kept
crying.
Trying to ignore the shrieks, Saul took a few deep breaths
and closed his eyes, watching the visions. He tried to bring back
the clarity, the flow and balance, but every time the mournful
scream reached a crescendo his visions shattered like glass
plates. He was never going to get any work done with the baby
crying. Saul sat up, calling out his wife's name again. There was
still no answer, so he stood up and walked through the hanging
beads into the house, cringing at the shrieks, trying to keep his
balance under the effects of the drug.
"Oh, sweetheart," he muttered emptily. "Oh honey, what's
wrong?" He stroked his daughter's flaccid skin, trying to calm
her. She was 14 years old, weighted over 400 pounds and had the
brain the size of a small lizard. A product of her mother's
continued use of "Lottalove," the pheromone perfume she wore when
she and Saul were first married.
His daughter settled down and grinned at him, gurgling as he
gently stroked her stomach. Her enormous round face wrinkled
grotesquely with the grin, drool running down her cheek and
mingling with tears. Her eyes and mouth were tiny, her hair fine
and golden. Her arms and legs were very short. From the smell of
her, she needed her diaper changed.
"Oh god," Saul muttered, standing over her and trying to
prepare himself for the task. Changing the diaper of a 400-pound
perpetual baby was, for him, a half-hour job. As he was preparing
the bedside hoist he heard the front door open and, hoping it was
his wife, called out, "Is that you?"
"Silly question," her voice came back. "Anyone would answer