"Jack Williamson - The Legion of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

A voice had spoken his name. Dropping the book, he sat upright in the chair. He blinked and swallowed; a quick little
shudder ran up and down his spine. The door was still closed, and there had been no other sound. But a woman was
standing before him on the nig.

A girl... beautiful!

A plain white robe swept long to her feet. Her hair was a shining mahogany-red, confined in a circle of something blue
and brilliant. The composure of her perfect face seemed almost stern; but, behind it, Lanning felt—agony.

Before her, in two small hands, she held an object about the size and shape of a football but shimmering with deep
inner splendors, like some incredible diamond.
Her grave eyes were on Lanning. They were wide, violet. Something in their depths—a haunting dread, a piercing,
hopeless longing—stabbed him with pity for her. Then amazement came back, and he stumbled to his feet

"Hello!" he gasped. "Yes, I'm Denny Lanning. But who are you?" His glance went to the locked door behind her. "And
how'd you get inside?"

A faint smile touched the white cameo of her face.

"I am Lethonee." Her voice had an unfamiliar rhythm, a lilt that was almost song. "And I am not really in your room,
but in my own city, Jonbar. It is only in your mind that we meet, through this." Her eyes dropped to the immense jewel.
"And only your study of time enabled me to reach you now."

Open-mouthed, Lanning was drinking in the slim clean youth of her, the glory of her hair, her calm deep loveliness that
was like an inner light.

"Lethonee—" he murmured, relishing the sound. "Lethonee—"

Dream or not, she was beautiful.

Appointment at the River 11

A quick little smile, pleased and tender, flickered across her troubled face.

"I have come a long way to find you, Denny Lanning," she said. "I have crossed a gulf more terrible than death to beg
for your help."

A queer, trembling eagerness had seized him. Incredulity struggled with a breathless hope. A throbbing ache was in
his throat, so that he couldn't speak. He walked uncertainly to her, and tried to touch the slim bare arms that held the
shining object. His quivering ringers found nothing but air.

"I'll help you, Lethonee," he gulped at last. "But how?" Her silver voice sank to an awed, urgent whisper. From the
startling whiteness of her face, the great violet eyes seemed to look far beyond the room.

"Because destiny has chosen you, Denny Lanning. The fate of the human race is on your shoulders. My own life is in
your hand, and the doom of Jonbar."

"Eh!" Lanning muttered. "How's that?" He rubbed his forehead, bewilderedly. "Where's Jonbar?"