"Herbert, Frank - The Green Brain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

The beetle leaped off the desk far out into the middle of the room, scurried toward the wall, up the wall and into a crack beside the window.
Joao pressed the handlight's switch, directed the beam into the hole which had swallowed the insect. He crossed the room, examined the hole.
'How long has this hole been here, Father?'
'For years. It was a flaw in the masonry ... an earthquake several years before your mother died, I believe.'
Joao crossed to the door in four strides, went through an arched hallway, down a flight of stone steps, through another door and short hall, through a grillework gate and into the outside garden. He set the handlight at full intensity, washed its blue glare over the wall beneath the study window. 'Joao, what are you doing?'
'My job, Father.' Joao glanced back, saw that the Prefect had followed and stopped just outside the garden gate.
Joao returned his attention to the study wall, washed the glare of light on to the stones beneath the window. He crouched low, running the light along the ground, peered behind each clod, erased all shadows.
The searching scrutiny passed over the raw earth, turned to the bushes, then the lawn. Joao heard his father come up behind. 'Do you see it?'
'No.'
'You should've allowed me to crush it.' Joao stood up, stared upward toward the tiled roof and the eaves. It was full dark all around now, with only the light from the study plus his handlight to reveal details.
A piercing stridulation, almost painful to the ears, filled the air all around them. It came from the outer garden that bordered the road and the stone fence. Even after it was gone, the sound seemed to hang all around them. It made Joao think of the hunting cry of jungle predators. A shiver moved up his spine. He turned toward the driveway where he had parked his airtruck, sent the handlight stabbing there.
'What a strange sound,' his father said, 'I ... ' He broke off, stared at the lawn. 'What is that?'
The lawn appeared to be in motion, reaching out toward them like a wave curling on a beach. Already the wave had cut them off from the entrance to the house. It still was some ten paces away, but moving in rapidly.
Joao clutched his father's arm. He spoke quietly, hoping not to alarm the old man further, mindful of the weak heart. 'We must get to my truck, Father. We must run across them.'
'Them?'
'Those are like the insect we saw inside, Father - millions of them. They are attacking. Perhaps they're not beetles after all. Perhaps they're like army ants. We must make it to the truck. I have equipment and supplies there to fight them off. We'll be safe in the truck. It's a bandeirante truck, Father. You must run with me, do you understand? I'll help you, but you must not stumble and fall into them.'
'I understand.'
They began to run, Joao holding his father's arm, pointing the way with the light.
Let his heart be strong enough, Joao prayed.
They were into the wave of insects then, but the creatures leaped aside, opening a path which closed behind the running men.
The white form of the airtruck loomed out of the shadows at the far curve of the driveway about fifteen meters ahead.
'Joao ... my heart,' the elder Martinho gasped.
'You can make it,' Joao panted. 'Faster!' He almost lifted his father from the ground for the last few paces.
They were at the wide rear doors into the truck's lab compartment now. Joao yanked open the doors, slapped the light switch on the left wall, reached for a hood and sprayrifle. He stopped, stared into the yellow-lighted interior.
Two men sat there - sertao Indians, by the look of them, with bright glaring eyes and bang-cut black hair beneath straw hats. They looked to be identical twins, even to the same mud-gray clothing and sandals, leather shoulder bags. The beetle-like insects crawled around them, up the lab walls, over the instruments and vials.
'What the devil?' Joao blurted.
One of the pair lifted a qena flute, gestured with it. He spoke in a rasping, oddly inflected voice: 'Enter. You will not be harmed if you obey.'
Joao felt his father sag, caught the old man in his arms. How light he felt. The old man breathed in short, painful gasps. His face was pale blue. Sweat stood out on his forehead.
'Joao,' the Prefect whispered. 'Pain ... my chest.'
'The medicine,' Joao said. 'Where is your medicine?'
'House,' the old man said. 'Desk.'
'It appears to be dying,' one of the Indians rasped.
Still holding his father in his arms, Joao whirled toward the pair, blazed: 'I don't know who you are or why you loosed those bugs here, but my father's dying and needs help. Get out of my way!'
'Obey or both die,' said the Indian with the flute. 'Enter.'
'He needs his medicine and a doctor,' Joao pleaded. He didn't like the way the Indian pointed that flute. The motion suggested the instrument was actually a weapon.
'What part has failed?' asked the other Indian. He stared curiously at Joao's father. The old man's breathing had become shallow and rapid.
'It's his heart,' Joao said. 'I know you farmers don't think he's acted fast enough for ... '
'Not farmers,' said the one with the flute. 'Heart?'
'Pump,' said the other.
'Pump,' said the Indian with the flute. He stood up from the bench at the front of the lab, gestured down, 'Put ... father here.'
The other one got off the bench, stood aside.
In spite of fear for his father, Joao was caught by the strange appearance of this pair, the fine, scale-like lines in their skin, the glittering brilliance of their eyes. Were they hopped up on some jungle narcotic?
'Put father here,' repeated the one with the flute. Again, he pointed at the bench. 'Help can be ... '
'Attained,' said the other one.
'Attained,' said the one with the flute.
Joao focused now the masses of insects around the walls, the waiting quietude in their ranks. They were like the one in the study. Identical.
The old man's breathing now was very shallow, very rapid. Joao felt the fluttering of each breath in his arms and against his chest.
He's dying, Joao thought in desperation.
'Help can be attained,' repeated the Indian with the flute. 'If you obey, we will not harm.'
The Indian lifted his flute, pointed it at Joao. 'Obey.'