James P. Hogan Paths to Otherwhere

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Hugh was about to open a can for himself, when Dave gave a start and looked at
the can in his own hand as if it had suddenly materialized there. He blinked,
shook his head, and peered down at the rock that he was sitting on. This time
it was Hugh's turn to be a second ahead. "Oh, so you're back," he said.
Dave's features knitted uncomprehendingly for an instant, then relaxed into a
grin. "It happened to me, didn't it?" he said.
"Uh-huh," Hugh confirmed.
"But we learned something from your counterpart," Sam told him. "This is
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interesting."
"It's getting goddamn weird," Sarah said, shaking her head.
"I want to try out what the other Dave suggested," Sam said. "Can we call
Peter now? I'd like to see if we can schedule some machine time as soon as we
get back."
"I thought we were all having dinner somewhere tonight," Hugh said.
"I'll take a rain check," Sam said. "This has got me intrigued. Do you have
the phone, Dave?"
Dave produced a mobile and passed it across. Sam entered Peter Mulgrave's
personal code and waited. Several seconds went by, but a connection
confirmation failed to appear. Then the unit displayed: connect fail error.
"Hm. Looks like a glitch in the system," Sam said and tried again. The result
was the same.
"Let me see," Dave said, holding out a hand. He looked worried all of a
sudden.
Sam passed the unit back to him. Dave entered a command, checked the display,
entered something more. A shrill, fragmented whine interspersed with static
came from the audio.
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"This could be trouble," Dave muttered, rising to his feet. "Get the stuff
picked up, guys. We need to get out of here."
Chapter Twelve
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"Bush gangs, ghetto fighters from the cities," Dave said as they hurriedly
collected things together. They're all over these parts. We shouldn't have
come out this far."
"But what does it have to do with the phone?" Hugh asked.
"They use jammers obviously they're not going to mess with anyone who could
have police choppers here in minutes. So it means there are some in this area.
And from the sound of that signal, I'd say they're pretty close."
There was little talk as the party hastened back up the trail, conserving
their breath for the ascent.
They saw the truck as they came over the rocky spur at the top of the trail an
old camper, modified with crash bumpers, window mesh, dirt wheels, and heavy
suspension, and painted black with gaudy ornamentation in gold and red. It was
parked at an angle across the front of Sam's Jeep, blocking it from the road.
A
rusting maroon pickup, loaded with boxes, bundles, and assorted junk, stood
behind, preventing the Jeep from backing up. Several figures were lounging
round, apparently waiting. Some of them were holding guns. They straightened
up when the returning party came into view. More appeared from the open door
of the camper. Sam, who had assumed the lead, stopped to survey the situation.
The others drew up apprehensively on either side of him.
A cold, shaky feeling took hold of Hugh as he realized that this was serious.
Action heroics had never been his line. Like most men he fantasized from time
to time about dealing with tricky situations. When the reality occurred, his
brain invariably seized up, finally managing to figure out what he should have
done, usually days later. "What do we do now?" he whispered.
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"Better leave this to me," Sam murmured, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
"What do you know about situations like this?" Dave muttered on Sam's other
side.
"Nothing. I'm just hoping I'm a faster learner."
Great, Hugh thought, and felt sick.
A low growl came from behind them. "Why don't you jus' keep on movin'?" a
voice said, smooth but menacing. "Y' can't be fixin' on standin' there all
day."
Hugh looked back. Two more men had stepped out from the rocks flanking the
path. The one who had spoken was fortyish, lean but muscular, with a ragged
black mustache, stubbly chin, and dark, beady eyes. He was wearing a padded
work vest over a heavy plaid shirt, and a wide-brimmed leather hat. He was
also toting a shotgun, trained skyward but with the breech closed. The other,
taller but younger, was holding a large, savage-looking dog, black with brown
flashes on the muzzle and chest, on a chain. His mouth was drawn back and
twitched in a suppressed, imbecilic snigger. He gave the impression of being
just itching to set the dog free. Sam motioned resignedly to the others with
his head. They moved on down the rest of the way to where the vehicles were
standing. Stubble-
chin and the Sniggerer followed.
An older man, broad and deep-chested, gray hair held back by a red and white
bandana, wearing faded denim, was in the center of the group standing waiting.
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He was carrying a pistol in a holster attached to a studded belt. There were
two more men, one maybe nineteen, the other in his thirties, and a woman aged
somewhere in between. All were dressed garishly but shabbily. The woman and
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Hogan, James P. - Paths to Otherwhere (v1.0) (html).html the kid had hunting [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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