"Robert F. Young - To Touch a Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

the new sets of possible moves that went with them. Thus, he saw not only the pattern itself, but all of its
potential ramifications.
The overall pattern was fascinating in its complexity. He stared at it intently, studying its intricate lines
and angles. The original pattern was no longer distinguishable: fact and extrapolation had become one.
He found presently that he could no longer tell which of the lines represented his potential moves and
which Mary's. But that was all right; it was the pattern that counted—not its individual parts.

HE RAISED his eyes to Mary's face, intending to tell her about the fascinating pattern—but he saw
that she already knew about it. She had stood up, he noticed, and was gesturing for him to do the same.
He obeyed. It seemed only natural that he should. Now she was leaving the lounge, looking back at him
over her shoulder. Follow me, her eyes said. He did so.
Along the corridor to the companionway. Down the companionway to the lower deck. Across the
lower deck to the lifts.
"Follow me," Mary said. "Yes, I'll follow you," he said. "I'll follow wherever you go."
He followed her into Lift-A, dropped down with her to the deck-level of Hold-A. Here, locks
confronted them. Atmosphere was never maintained in the holds of freighters unless the goods being
transported required it and the holds of the Mary were empty.
The first note of wrongness struck Powers when Mary began turning the deactivator on the inner
lock. Shouldn't he be suited?
He asked her.
She did not answer but went on turning the activator.
The inner lock swung open.
She stepped into the intra-lock compartment. He almost followed. The pattern was less clear in his
mind now. Its lines were wavering, running together.
What was he doing in the hold-area?
"Mary, why have we come here?" he asked.
She did not answer. She was busy turning a dial on the inner wall. He knew the function of the dial. It
controlled the mechanism that closed the inner lock and then opened the outer one. Whoosh! the pocket
of air in the intra-lock compartment would go as it rushed into Hold-A and dispersed and Powers' blood
would gush from his nose and mouth and his lungs would come in clots from his mouth and his ghost
would join the other ghosts that walked the black boulevard of space.
"Mary!"
He leaped through the narrowing aperture and sought to seize her arm and pull her away from the
deadly dial. But while she had substance of sorts it was not the substance of flesh and bone and he could
not hold on to her.
The inner lock had almost closed. He jumped through the narrow opening, barely in time. The pattern
was no more but traces of his trance still remained. He watched, horrified, as the lock closed the rest of
the way, sealing Mary in the airless hold.
Then the last traces of the trance vanished and sanity returned.
The ship had tried to kill him. Why?
He reentered the lift, reactivated it. He was sweating when he stepped out on the lower deck. Why
should the ship want to kill him? He climbed the companionway to the living quarters, walked down the
corridor to the lounge. Entering, he swept checkerboard and checkers from the table and sat down. He
noticed that his hands were trembling.

HE WASN'T particularly surprised when Mary materialized opposite him. She was sitting in the
other chair as though she'd been there all along. Her right elbow rested- on the tabletop and her chin was
cupped in the palm of her right hand.
She said, "You have more individuality than I thought."
"Why?" he asked hoarsely. "Why, Mary—why?"