"Rhys Hughes - The Singularity Spectres" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Rhys)

The second suitcase took slightly less time to reach us. The amount of smoke which poured from
Zimara's glove increased and the accompanying jolt was more violent. I pointed out this discrepancy, but he
repudiated my concern. "It's an increase in gravity as we go deeper. We'll continue to accelerate until we
reach the core. Don't worry, no details have been overlooked. This asbestos glove can withstand far higher
temperatures. A greater worry is the string wearing away on the edges of the stalagmite. It's nylon, so I feel
confident."

I knotted the two ends of cord together, lifted the suitcase aboard and we continued on our ludicrous
voyage. Wining and dining was followed by Zimara's speculations on the constitution of the spectral universe.
A society so compatible to ours in manners and infrastructure would hardly arrange for a large percentage of
its members to be crushed into an orb. The ball of spectres, he felt, was an anomaly. Or rather, its
dimensions had grown beyond what was originally envisaged. He reproached me for not formulating my own
hypotheses from the available data. This irritated me and I reminded him of my professional standing in the
paranormal fields. He cared little for this, he admitted, nor for the fact that the college which employed me
was the only institute in the country to offer courses in Applied Eschatology. I argued the advantages of
continuous assessment over written exams in the subject.

We were interrupted by an attenuated wail and I rotated to confront a distant apparition approaching from
above. My telescope resolved it as the figure of a child, a young girl, complete with pigtails and freckled
cheeks. Despite our velocity, she quickly gained on us. Instinctively, I ducked as she passed over the crate,
spinning at a fantastic rate. For a brief instant, her gaze fixed on mine. There was such innocent terror in her
blue eyes that I bowed and momentarily crossed away my atheism. Even Zimara had tears lodged in his
throat as he cried, "Poor thing! She must have died directly above Finsbury Park. They normally plummet the
entire way through solid rock. Maybe this is better. But there won't be much of a welcome for her at the
bottom."

I was too affected by the sight to search for my camera. Shuddering with pity and fear, I waited until her
flowered party-dress had vanished far below. "A real ghost!" I breathed. "She was floating in thin air! So it's
true: I'm going to be famous at last! But what has made her descend through the radius of the Earth?"

Zimara sighed. "It's happening all over the world even as we speak. Have you never wondered how
phantoms pass through walls? Clearly they're comprised of atoms finer than those which make up the
material universe. But if they can drift through a solid wall, what's stopping them falling through floors just as
easily? And if floors, why not the ground? Spooks are rare on the surface because once the host body
expires, the majority of them drop toward the centre of the planet. It's gravity, and it reels in every soul without
a license."

"Very well, I'm convinced of the postulation. I presume the central cavern with the ocean is an abode of
rest for these unfortunate spirits? It must have been designed with them in mind. But how can they enjoy its
pleasures when compressed into a sphere with other wraiths? And just who is responsible for issuing the
licenses? Where do I make an application? I'd rather stay above than roll aimlessly over a barren plateau. Did
you manage to obtain one down there?" "Alas, no! And neither can I assist you. From what I gathered at
my trial, mortals selected to become surface-spooks are approached on their twenty-first birthdays and given
a license immediately. Everyone else is destined for the long drop. By what you've said, I assume nobody
came to you on your birthday? Nor to me!"

I fretted and groaned as the import of his words depressed the soul which sat inside my body. It clung
tight to the rails of my ribcage, too scared to let go in case it slipped between the knots of my tendons; its
anxiety manifested itself as a dull ache in my chest. Life is a fragile, precious thing, too frail to entrust to a