"A. E. Van Vogt - Slan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Vogt A E)

thoughts. But there was a shield here as effective in hiding true thoughts as any slan's. Yet
it was different. Overtones came through that told of a remorseless character, a highly
trained and brilliant brain. Suddenly there was the tail end of a thought, brought to the
surface by a flurry of passion that shattered the man's calm: 'I -- I've got to kill that slan
girl, Kathleen Layton. That's the only way to undermine Kier Gray -- '
Frantically, Jommy attempted to follow the thought, but it was gone into the shadows,
out of reach. And yet he had the gist. A slan girl named Kathleen Layton was to be killed so
that Kier Gray might be undermined.
'Boss,' came Sam Enders' thought, 'will you turn that switch? The red light that flashed on
is the general alarm.'
John Petty's mind remained indifferent. 'Let them alarm,' he snapped. 'That stuff is for
the sheep.'
'Might as well see what it is,' Sam Enders said. The car slackened infinitesimally as he
reached to the far end of the switchboard; and Jommy, who had worked his way
precariously to one end of the bumper, waited desperately for a chance to leap clear. His
eyes, peering ahead over the fender, saw only the long, bleak line of pavement, unrelieved
by grass boulevards, hard and forbidding. To leap would be to smash himself against
concrete. As he drew back hopelessly, a storm of Enders thoughts came to him as Enders'
brain received the message on the general alarm:
' -- all cars on Capital Avenue and vicinity watch for boy who is believed to be a slan
named Jommy Cross, son of Patricia Cross. Mrs. Cross was killed ten minutes ago at the
comer of Main and Capital. The boy leaped to the bumper of a car, which drove away
rapidly, witnesses report.'
'Listen to that, boss,' Sam Enders said. 'We're on Capital Avenue. We'd better stop and
help in the search. There's ten thousand dollars' reward for slans.'
Brakes screeched. The car decelerated with a speed that crushed Johnny hard against the
rear end. He tore himself free of the intense pressure and, just before the car stopped,
lowered himself to the pavement. His feet jerked him into a run. He darted past an old
woman, who clutched at him, avarice in her mind. And then he was on a vacant lot, beyond
which towered a long series of blackened brick and concrete buildings, the beginning of the
wholesale and factory district.
A thought leaped after him from the car, viciously: 'Enders, do you realize that we left
Capital and Main ten minutes ago? That boy -- There he is! Shoot him, you fool!'
The sense of the man Enders drawing his gun came so vividly to Jommy that he felt the
rasp of metal on leather in his brain. Almost he saw the man take aim, so clear was the
mental impression that bridged the hundred and fifty feet between them.
Jommy ducked sideways as the gun went off with a dull plop. He had the faintest
awareness of a blow, and then he had scrambled up some steps into an open doorway, into
a great, dark-lit warehouse. Dim thoughts reached out from behind him:
'Don't worry, boss, we'll wear that little shrimp out.'
 'You fool, no human being can tire a slan.' He seemed to be barking orders then into a
radio: 'We've got to surround the district at 57th Street ... Concentrate every police car and
get the soldiers out to -- '
How blurred everything was becoming! Jommy stumbled through a dim world, conscious
only that, in spite of his tireless muscles, a man could run at least twice as fast as his best
speed would carry him. The vast warehouse was a dull light-world of looming box shapes,
and floors that stretched into the remote semidarkness. Twice the tranquil thoughts of men
moving boxes somewhere to his left impinged on his mind. But there was no awareness of
his presence in their minds, no knowledge of the uproar outside. Far ahead, and to his right,
he saw a bright opening, a door. He bore in that direction. He reached the door, amazed at