"Chad Oliver - The Winds of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oliver Chad)

He was no fool. There was nothing to be gained by panic and hysteria, but the plain fact was that
Arvon was a man utterly outside the frame of his experience. Wherever he had come from, whatever he
was, he was different. How could you tell what his motives were? They might be anything. How could
you tell whether he meant you harm or was just defending himself? Defending—against what threat? How
could you tell whether he told you the truth or lies? How could you tell what he wanted information for?
 And yet Wes felt a sort of trust, almost a kinship. If it hadn't been for Jo and the discomfort—
"Look," Arvon said. "Paintings."
He handed Wes a packet of colored prints.
"Photographs," Wes corrected him.
He stared at them. Many were of rolling plains, knee-deep in grasses. Some were of snow and ice.
Several showed strange men in skins. They looked a little like Eskimos. Wes tried to recall the Disney
short on Eskimos, but couldn't remember the details. In any event, they weren't quite Eskimos, he was
certain of that. There were shots of animals he had never seen—a great shaggy beast like an elephant, a
thing like an overgrown buffalo.
Mostly there were fields, and grasses, and ice.
"Your—ummm—world?" Wes asked, feeling a little foolish.
Arvon looked blank.
Wes borrowed the man's tablet and the writing instrument. Let's see now, he thought. How do they
do it in the movies?
He started with the sun, drawing a circle in the center of the page. So far, so good. But what came
between the sun and the Earth? Wes had never had time to bother with a course in astronomy, and he
was neither more nor less ignorant of such matters than the bulk of his fellow citizens.
Well, eliminate some of the outer planets. Pluto, that was the little one way out on the edge; throw
that one away. But what else? How many planets were there, anyhow? Eight? Nine? Ten? He shook his
head. Mars was the one he was after; that was where aliens always came from in the movies, so there
must be some reason behind the choice. But which side of the Earth was Mars on? Toward the sun or in
the direction of Pluto?
"Hell," he said.
He drew ten planets in a straight line out from the sun and handed the tablet to Arvon. Arvon looked
at it with blank incomprehension. After all, it was just a series of circles on a piece of paper. Arvon
studied it solemnly, and finally folded it up and put it in his pocket.
So much for that.
Time passes slowly in a confined space. Wes got his watch back so he could keep track of the hours,
but he still had no idea how long he had been in the vault before he was able to read the dial on his watch
again. Quite possibly it was autumn outside, with winter on the way. It would be cold in the mountains,
and snow would make the trail a tough one, if he ever saw it again.
It took him two days of concentrated effort to get across to Arvon the idea that he wanted to write Jo
a letter—just a note saying that he was okay, that he loved her, that he would explain everything to her
someday. He even wrote such a letter, explained about addresses, and spent a miserable few hours
trying to get across the concept of stamps.
Arvon took the note and read it. He read it not once, but many times. He took it apart and put it back
together again. And then he shook his head sadly.
"But why? It can't hurt you—can't hurt you. Small thing to ask—"
Arvon refused firmly. "Desire to help," he said slowly. "Desire to help, but must not help." He groped
for words. "Risk. Danger. Big chance."
Wes felt his unnatural calmness desert him. "But you have no right to keep me here like this! You
have explained nothing, done nothing, said nothing. What the devilkind of a man are you?"
Arvon frowned, puzzled.
Oh God, this is impossible!
 Then, unexpectedly, Arvon tried to answer him. "Right," he said. "Hard word. Very hard word. Right