The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum. Stanley G. Weinbaum
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Название: The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum
Автор: Stanley G. Weinbaum
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027247912
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"Will she—live?" He moved as if to clasp her in his arms.
"Don't!" snapped Martin Sair. "On your life, don't touch her yet. Give her red corpuscles time to oxygenate. The girl's asphyxiated, suffocated, strangled! Do you want it all to do over again?" His eyes perceived the anguish in Connor's face, and he softened. "Of course she'll live. Did you think Death could so easily defeat Martin Sair? He has beaten me many a time, but never in so mild a contest as this!"
The great Immortal again bent over the girl. Her breathing had eased. For a terrible instant Connor thought it was ceasing once more. Martin Sair lifted the mask from the pallid, perfect features, still quiet as marble save for the sighing of her breathing.
"Now the elixir vitae," he said. "That will put fire into this chilly blood."
He took a phial of ruby liquid from the hand of his silent assistant, the same potent stimulant, it appeared, that had roused Evanie from the deathlike sleep of the Messenger.
The Princess was far too deep in unconsciousness to swallow. Martin Sair poured a tiny, trickling stream between her lips, no more than a few crimson drops. It was enough. As it made its fiery way down her throat she moaned and her exquisite face twisted as if in agony. The limp hands clenched convulsively into white fists.
Martin Sair rose.
"You see," he said to his grave assistant, "there was nothing organically wrong. Oxygen–starved, that was all. The organism was undamaged. The blood had not even begun to coagulate. It was simply necessary to start the body machine working, since it was in perfect running order."
"Cardiacine is a gamble," his assistant said slowly. "I've had it rupture the hearts in some cases."
Martin Sair snorted. "Not with proper precautions. Daturamine and amino– hyoscine first. Cardiacine is powerful, of course." He mused. "I've seen it produce pulsations in the heart of a man ten days dead."
Connor ceased to listen. Cases! As if this were a medical case, this miracle! They droned on without even a glance at the pain–racked, exquisite face. Tom Connor touched her cold cheeks, kissed the soot–streaked fore– head.
"Careful!" warned Martin Sair.
"But she breathes!" Connor whispered exultantly. "You're sure—certain she'll live?"
"She'll be conscious in ten minutes. A little sick, but conscious." The scientist's tone softened again. "In two days she'll be as bright as ever. After all, her body is the body of a twenty–year–old girl. She has youth, resilience. You can stop worrying."
Someone touched Connor's shoulder; a guard, who began droning, "Orbis Terrarum Imperator—"
"I won't go!" Tom Connor blazed. "I'm staying here!"
"She's out of danger, I tell you," insisted Martin Sair. "If she were ever in danger—with me at hand!"
Hesitantly then, Connor followed the guard, glancing apprehensively back at Margaret of Urbs, prone on the stone floor of the corridor. Then he reluctantly went on into the Throne Room.
The Master Sits in Judgment
In the Throne Room the ventilators had drawn out the steam and smoke–poisoned air, but moisture dripped from the walls and gathered in pools on the floor. The terrific destruction of the blast was evident everywhere. No single hanging remained on walls or windows. Everything inflammable was in cinders, and the very floor was still almost blistering hot.
The far end was a mass of indescribable ruin, debris from the shattered wall, even fragments of the diorite bases of the thrones. The air, despite the humming ventilators, was stifling in the radiations from floor and walls.
The Master sat upon the half–melted wreckage of his throne, his stem eyes on Evanie and Jan Orm, who stood between guards before him.
The frightened look on Evanie's face moved Connor despite the injuries she had done him. After all, she had nursed him out of the very grave and given him, penniless and strange, a home and a place in this bizarre world. She was clinging frantically to the arm of Jan, who stood morose and impassive before the Master.
"Thomas," the ruler said, "I can get nothing from this sullen pair. Tell me what you know of this."
Connor met Evanie's terrified gaze, and it wrung pity from him. He owed much to this girl. Was it any more than right that he help her now? At least he could confuse the issue, prolong it until he could obtain the aid of Margaret of Urbs.
"I did it myself!" he said promptly.
There was no change in the Master's face.
"You?" he repeated mildly. "How?"
"I made the bomb in Martin Sair's laboratory," Connor said, with a quick warning glance at Evanie. "I made it at night, and smuggled it in here during the darkness. That's all."
"Indeed? After your oath, Thomas? And I had flattered myself that you were my friend—my esteemed friend."
There was something inscrutable in the Master's face. The grave eyes surveyed Connor sorrowfully as he fingered a beam–pistol.
"I think," said the Master, slipping out the weapon, "that I will destroy you once and for all, Connor." He leveled the gun.
"Wait!" shrieked Jan Orm. "He didn't do it—I did!" He paused as the Master's cool eyes shifted to him. "I had it made in Ormon and smuggled here to me. I hid itin the Throne Room early this morning, before any one was about!"
"Well," said the Master slowly, "I might believe that both of you had a hand in it."
His eyes flickered over Evanie.
She drew herself erect.
"What's the use?" she said dully. "I won't have you two shielding me. I did it. I had the bomb smuggled to me by an amphimorph, who rode a bubble down the mains to the pool in the Gardens. That's the truth."
"Suppose, then," said the Master, "I destroy all three of you, and thus assure myself that the guilty one is punished."
"I don't care!" Evanie flung out defiantly. "I'm sorry I failed, but at least I've extinguished the Black Flame of Urbs—and I'm glad!"
The ruler's eyes held a curious light as he gazed over their heads. A step sounded behind them. Connor whirled to see Margaret of Urbs approaching, supported by the arm of Martin Sair. Soot–stained, the whole slim length of her right leg red and blistered by the blast, her right cheek inflamed by the contact with the steaming floor, she was yet so incredibly lovely that she was breath–taking. Tom Connor sprang to her side, slipped a steadying arm about her as she swayed willingly against him. Evanie, so pale she seemed about to faint, was leaning weakly СКАЧАТЬ