Timeline - Crichton Michael (книги без регистрации бесплатно полностью TXT) 📗

00:09:04

The big screens at the far end of the control room showed the technicians filling the shields with water. The shields were holding up fine. But nobody in the control room was looking at the shields. Instead, they stared silently at the console monitor, watching the undulations of the shimmering, computer-generated field. During the last ten minutes, the peaks had become steadily lower, until now they had nearly vanished; when they appeared at all, they were just occasional ripples in the surface.

Still, they watched.

For a moment, the ripples seemed to grow stronger, more definite. "Is something happening?" Kramer said hopefully Gordon shook his head. "I don't think so. I think that's just random fluctuations."

"I thought it might be getting stronger," Kramer said.

But Stern could see it wasn't true. Gordon was right; the change was just random. The ripples on the screen remained intermittent, unstable.

"Whatever the problem is back there," Gordon said, "they still have it."

00:05:30

Through the flames that leapt up in the central courtyard of La Roque, Kate saw the Professor and the others come out of a far doorway. She ran to join them. They all seemed to be okay. The Professor nodded to her. They were all moving fast.

Kate said to Chris, "Do you have the ceramic?"

"Yes. I have it." He brought it out of his pocket, turned it to press the button.

"There's not enough space."

"There's space…," Chris said.

"No. You need two meters on all sides, remember?"

They were surrounded by fire. "You won't find that anywhere in this courtyard," Marek said "That's right," the Professor said. "We have to go to the next courtyard."

Kate looked ahead. The gatehouse leading to the outer courtyard was forty yards away. But within the gatehouse, the portcullis was up. In fact, it didn't look as if the gate was guarded at all; the soldiers had all abandoned it, to fight the intruders.

"How much time?"

"Five minutes."

"Okay," the Professor said. "Let's get moving."

They moved at a trot through the fiery courtyard, sidestepping flames and battling soldiers. The Professor and Kate were in the lead. Marek, wincing with the pain in his leg, followed behind. And Chris, worried about Marek, brought up the rear.

Kate reached the first gate. There were no guards at all. They ran through the gate, passing beneath the spikes of the raised portcullis. They entered the middle courtyard. "Oh no," Kate said.

All of Oliver's soldiers were garrisoned in the middle court, and there seemed to be hundreds of knights and pages running back and forth, shouting to the men on the battlements, carrying weapons and provisions.

"No room here," the Professor said. "We'll have to go through the next gate. Outside the castle."

"Outside?" Kate said. "We'll never even get across this courtyard."

Marek came hobbling up, panting. He took one look at the courtyard and said, "Hoarding."

"Yes," the Professor said, nodding. He pointed up at the walls. "The hoarding."

The hoarding was the enclosed wooden passageway built along the outside rim of the walls. It was a covered fighting platform that enabled soldiers to shoot down at attacking troops. They might be able to move along the hoarding and make their way to the far side of the courtyard, and the far gatehouse.

Marek said, "Where's Chris?"

They looked back into the central courtyard.

They didn't see him anywhere.

Chris had been following Marek, thinking that perhaps he would have to carry Marek and wondering whether he could, when suddenly he was shoved to one side, slammed bodily against a wall. He heard a voice behind him say in perfect English, "Not you, pal. You stay here." And he felt the point of a sword jabbed in his back.

He turned to see Robert de Kere standing in front of him, holding his sword. De Kere grabbed him roughly by the collar, shoved him against another wall. Chris saw with alarm that they were just outside the arsenal. With the courtyard in flames, this was not the place to be.

De Kere didn't seem to care. He smiled. "In fact," he said, "none of you bastards are going anywhere."

"Why is that?" Chris said, keeping his eye on the sword.

"Because you have their marker, pal."

"No I don't."

"I can hear your transmissions, remember?" De Kere held out his hand. "Come on, give it to me."

He grabbed Chris again, and shoved him through the door. Chris stumbled into the arsenal. It was empty now, the soldiers having fled. All around him were stacked bags of gunpowder. The basins where the soldiers had been grinding still lay on the floor.

"Your fucking Professor," de Kere said, seeing the bowls. "Think you know so much. Give it to me."

Chris fumbled under his doublet, reaching for his pouch.

De Kere snapped his fingers impatiently. "Come on, come on, hurry up."

"Just a minute," Chris said.

"You guys are all the same," de Kere said. "Just like Doniger. You know what Doniger said? Don't worry, Rob, we're making new technology that will fix you up. It's always new technology that will fix you up. But he didn't make any new technology. He never intended to. He was just lying, the way he always does. My goddamn face." He touched the scar that ran down the center. "It hurts all the time. Something about the bones. It aches. And my insides are screwed up. Hurts."

De Kere held out his palm irritably. "Come on. You keep this up, and I'll kill you now."

Chris felt his fingers close around the canister. How far away would the gas work? Not at the distance of a sword. But there was no alternative.

Chris took a deep breath, and sprayed the gas. De Kere coughed, more irritated than surprised, and stepped forward. "You asshole," he said. "You think that's a bright idea? Real tricky. Tricky boy."

He poked at Chris with the sword, jabbing him backward. Chris backed up.

"For that, I'm going to cut you open and let you watch your guts spill out." And he swung upward, but Chris dodged it easily, and he thought, It's had some effect. He sprayed again, closer to de Kere's face, then ducked as the sword swung and struck the floor, knocking over one of the basins.

De Kere wobbled, but he was still on his feet. Chris sprayed a third time, and de Kere somehow remained standing. He swung, the blade hissing; Chris dodged it, but the blade sliced his arm above the right elbow. Blood dripped from the wound, spattering on the floor. The canister fell from his hand.

De Kere grinned. "Tricks don't work here," he said. "This is the real thing. Real sword. Watch it happen, pal."

He prepared to swing again. He was still unsteady, but growing stronger quickly. Chris ducked as the blade whined over his head and slashed into the stacked bags of powder. The air was filled with gray particles. Chris stepped back again, and this time felt his foot against a basin on the floor. He started to kick it aside, then noticed its weight beneath his foot. It wasn't one of the powder basins, it was a heavy paste. And it had a harsh smell. He recognized it immediately: it was the smell of quicklime.

Which meant the basin at his feet was filled with automatic fire.

Quickly, Chris bent over and lifted the basin in his hands.

De Kere paused.

He knew what it was.

Chris took the moment of hesitation and threw the basin directly at de Kere's face. It struck him in the chest, the brown paste spattering his face and arms and body.

De Kere snarled.

Chris needed water. Where was there water? He looked around, desperate, but he already knew the answer: there was no water in this room. He was backed into a corner now. De Kere smiled. "No water?" he said. "Too bad, tricky boy." He held his sword horizontally in front of him, and moved forward. Chris felt the stone against his back, and knew that he was finished. At least the others might get away.