Khalifstork: переводы

→Sparks flew and the red-hot speaking-plate snapped off under pressure of internal stresses and cut Lowry's cheek.

→"Two dozen! Why not?"

→--Yeah? Dead now. Mine now.

→There was a noise. Liv had been hearing it for some seconds before she really noticed it--rising from beneath the hum of New Design's waking, rising quickly to force out all other, softer sounds. A noise like chalk on a blackboard; like a mosquito of unusual size whining of its horrible needs; like the ringing complained of by sufferers from injuries to the brain, to Ignvir's Lobe or Werner's Area, or by certain schizophrenics persuaded of mysterious alarms. . . . A whine, a hiss, a crackling chaos of sound, surging and then breaking, resolving into the boom of a voice, reboant, sounding from outside the town's walls and resounding from the sky: ". . . OF THE ANGELUS ENGINE. MEN AND WOMEN OF NEW DESIGN, THIS IS SUB-CONDUCTOR LOWRY OF THE ANGELUS ENGINE. I REPEAT: MEN AND WOMEN OF . . ."

→He continued to ignore her.

→"Are you married, Mr. Hulgins?"

→Hulgins stared out into the yard. He shook his head slowly; Liv wasn't sure what he was saying no to.

→***

→"This isn't the Line itself," Liv told poor Mr. Hulgins. "This is only a tiny distant echo of the Line. They didn't come for war. They came chasing down one man. They'll be tired. They don't have their vehicles, Creedmoor said. They don't have their flying machines. There are no Engines. They are little more than ordinary men. It's not altogether hopeless, Mr. Hulgins."

→In the yard in front of them, ten soldiers of New Design performed an impromptu drill, marching left and right, twirling and locking rifles, setting bayonets, shouting and stamping out commands and code words; then they scattered, seemingly midroutine, to the town's four corners. Some saluted as they went; some held each other. Liv hoped all that noise and activity gave them confidence.

→Hulgins noticed Liv studying him. He gave what was presumably meant to be a fierce scowl, but his eyes trembled, his chin quivered. She smiled at him.

→Mr. Hulgins was big and guileless, slow moving, decent. Back in the real world, he might have been the owner of a butcher's shop or hardware store, most likely inherited from a sharper, harder father, or acquired by marriage to some clever woman--and he'd have been much loved by the neighborhood, and probably never have turned much of a profit, maybe lost the store to a bank, probably limped along well enough. . . . That, Liv thought, was Hulgins's natural type. He'd been badly misplaced. A man like that had no business dying for New Design.

→They watched torches and candles and oil lamps light up all down the streets. The sky was slowly tending to gray, and the night stars were fading. They watched men run back and forth; first bell-ringers and drum-beaters, then a few confused and halting men woken in their nightshirts or furs or stepping out naked into the night; soon more of them, some grimly silent, others muttering with fear or shouting with glee, all of them laden with spears, bows, rifles, hoes and rakes, or buckets, or timber, or bundles that Liv could not identify. The rain softly ceased and she did not remark the moment.

→Mr. Hulgins led Liv out to the yard, where he stood by her side in awkward silence.

→***

→"I wanted to do this clean. I did. Have the amplifier brought to me, please, Mr. Mill."

→The Linesmen formed three columns, roughly fifty men each. Ahead of them, they wheeled their cannon and motor guns, like ants carrying leaves. They came out of the oaks and across the fields toward New Design's moat, and its walls, where Lowry now fully and calmly expected to die.

→"All right, Mill. Give the orders. Move up. We lay siege."

→"What do they teach these boys?" Lowry said. "What do they teach them?" He shoved Hayworth back to his knees and walked away, beckoning Mill after him.

→Hayworth bit his bloodied lip and said nothing.