"Raymond Z. Gallun - Dawn of the Demigods Or, People Minus X" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gallun Raymond Z)

own mule, because he didn't like my smell. Hell, I bet in real life that mule
would of plum enjoyed whisky!"
Abel Freeman stopped talking. He turned pale gray eyes set in a face
that looked like brown leather toward his audience with expectant amusement,
as if he understood the eerie impression he'd made on them and was curious
about their reactions.
Barbara took the lead. "We're surely glad to know you, Mr. Freeman,"
she said, shaking his big brown paw and unconsciously aping his manner of
speech. "I'm sure you could tell us plum more. What's the world ever coming
to?"
His grip, for an instant, was almost literally like that of a vise. But
when Barbara winced with pain, his hand relaxed, and his look became honestly
gentle and apologetic, though it retained a certain slyness of tricks being
played or unprecedented power being demonstrated.
"Oh, excuse me, lady!" he drawled. "This first Abel Freeman -- he was
supposed to be a very strong and vigorous man. Me -- naturally I'm even a lot
stronger. Sometimes I just forget. But I try to be right courtly. There, I'll
rub your fingers. Hope I didn't break no bones."
Barbara laughed a bit nervously. "No, Mr. Freeman -- I'm fine," she
assured him, nodding her dark head. "Now, if you'll tell us -- "
"Oh, yes -- about what the world and everything is coming to," Abel
Freeman went on, his tone more languid than his eyes. "Well, matters could get
mighty rough. I've been studying up -- thinking. When I first got to these
times, I didn't like them. Everything seemed addled. Guess I was homesick. I
kind of resented being made the cheap way, too. But even way back in the years
I remember, they used to say that maybe there'd be flying machines or even
balloons to the Moon. So I perked up and got acclimated, and said to myself,
'Abel, my boy, take what's given to you and don't whine, even though you
weren't asked if you wanted to come here. And with all that can be done now,
why not bring your old woman and her chewing tobacco? And your four ornery




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sons? Nat was the worst. And Nancy, your daughter, who was an unholy terror?
Of course this family that you recollect so good probably don't match
historical fact so much, being just romanticized, mostly made-up memories put
into your bead. But they're plum real to you. Guess when they synthesized you,
they should have left those recollections out. Because you love that family of
yours, ornery or not, and would be happy to see its members again.' And I said
to myself besides, 'Abel, bein' made the cheap way has got plenty of
advantages. You're strong as a dozen regular men, and you won't need
rejuvenation, because you'll never get any older. You'll heal even if you're
hurt something terrible. Trouble is, your kind'll be some mighty stiff
competition for the present holders of the land. Of course people want to get
along peaceably -- even your sort, Abel. But plenty of folks will wind up
trusting your sort no more than they'd trust a billygoat under a line of wash.
Yep, I'm afraid there's gonna be some mighty interesting days coming!'"
Abel Freeman ended his conversation almost dreamily. He'd hung his