Philip José Farmer / Филип Хосе Фармер - Собрание сочинений
Годы выпуска: 1953-2013 г.
Автор: Farmer, Philip José / Фармер, Филип Хосе
Филип Хосе Фармер (Philip José Farmer) - американский писатель-фантаст, автор более полусотни романов и огромного числа рассказов.
В середине 60-х Фармер начинает публиковать романы, которые в последующем составили два многотомных цикла. Первая из них — «Многоярусный мир» состоит из семи романов, рассказывающих о комбинации «карманных» вселенных, параллельных миров, в которые играют их неведомые создатели. А главное действующее лицо серии — настоящий землянин Пол Джаунс Финнеган (Paul Janus Finnegan), инициалы которого поразительно совпадают с инициалами самого Фармера — PJF.
Но более известен его цикл «Мир Реки» в котором автор нарисовал мир, представляющий собой удивительную страну (райский сад) раскинувшуюся на берегах бесконечной, на тысячи миль, реки, населен… воскресшими всеми людьми, когда-то жившими на Земле. Оказывается, такой фантастический эксперимент затеяли неведомые инопланетные «боги», сверхцивилизация Этики. Но с какой целью?.. Вот этим и задались целью узнать некоторые из обитателей Мира Реки — археолог и путешественник сэр Ричард Бертон (Sir Richard Burton, 1821-1890), Сэмюэл Клеменс (Samuel Clemens), более известный нам под именем Марк Твен (Mark Twain), Джек Лондон (Jack London), Сирано де Бержерак и др.
02 The Fabulous Riverboat / Сказочный корабль (= Сказочный пароход; Волшебный корабль) 1971, fb2
03 The Dark Design / Темный замысел 1977, fb2; 2010, epub, ISBN: 978-0-7653-2654-6, Tor
04 The Magic Labyrinth / Магический лабиринт 1980, fb2; 2010, epub, ISBN: 978-0-7653-2655-3, Tor
05 Gods of Riverworld / Боги Мира Реки 1983, fb2; 2011, epub, eISBN: 978-1-4299-9352-4, Tor
Riverworld 2010, epub, ISBN: 978-0-7653-2652-2, Tor
02 The Gates of Creation / Врата мироздания 1966, fb2
03 A Private Cosmos / Личный космос 1968, fb2
04 Behind the Walls of Terra / За стенами Терры (= За гранями Земли) 1970, fb2
05 The Lavalite World / Лавалитовый мир 1977, fb2
06 Red Orc's Rage / Гнев Рыжего Орка (= Ярость Рыжего Орка) 1992, fb2, ISBN: 0-812-50890-4, Tor (соответственно некоторым источникам эта книга принадлежит циклу, но не входит в основную последовательность)
07 More Than Fire / Больше, чем огонь 1993, fb2
02 Dayworld Rebel / Мир одного дня: Бунтарь (= Мятеж; Восставший в Мире Дня) 1987, epub, ISBN: 0-399-13230-9, Ace/Putnam
03 Dayworld Breakup / Мир одного дня: Распад (= Разруха в Мире Дня) 1990, epub, ISBN: 0-312-85035-2, Tor
02 Lord of the Trees / Повелитель деревьев 1983, fb2, ISBN: 0-7221-3488-6, Sphere; 2012, epub, eISBN: 978-1-78116-294-1, Titan Books
03 Keepers of the Secrets (= The Mad Goblin) / Хранители тайн (= Безумный гоблин) 1983, fb2, ISBN: 0-7221-3489-4, Sphere
03 Traitor to the Living / Ловец душ (= Там, по ту сторону...) 1973, fb2/epub
02 The Startouched 1974, fb2
03 The Evolution of Paul Eyre 1974, fb2
04 Passing On 1975, fb2
The Peerless Peer 2011, epub, ISBN: 978-0-85768-540-7, Titan Books
Tales of The Wold Newton Universe 2013, pdf, ISBN: 978-1-78116-304-7, Titan Books
02 Flight to Opar / Бегство в Опар 1976, epub
Time's Last Gift / Последний дар времени 1972, fb2; 1985, epub, ISBN: 978-0-812-53764-2, Tor
Flesh / Плоть 2013, epub, eISBN: 978-1-78116-303-0, Titan Books
The Lovers / Любящие (= Грех межзвездный; Влюбленные; Любовь зла) 1961, fb2
Inside Outside / Мир наизнанку (= Внутри и снаружи; Шиворот-навыворот) 1979, fb2, ISBN: 0-425-04041-0, Berkley Books
Tongues of the Moon 1970, fb2, Pyramid Books
Dare / Дейра 1979, fb2, ISBN: 0-425-03953-6, Berkley Books
Night of Light / Ночь света 1977, fb2, ISBN: 978-0-425-03366-1, Berkley Medallion
The Gate of Time (= Two Hawks from Earth) / Врата времени 1974, fb2, ISBN: 0-7043-1171-2, Quartet Books
Lord Tyger / Властитель Тигр 2012, epub, eISBN: 978-0-85768-969-6, Titan Books
The Stone God Awakens / Пробуждение каменного Бога 1970, epub; 1979, ISBN: 0-441-78653-7, Ace
The Wind Whales of Ishmael / Небесные киты Измаила 1971, fb2
The Other Log of Phileas Fogg 1973, fb2/epub
Venus on the Half-Shell / Венера на раковине 2013, fb2/epub, eISBN: 978-1-78116-307-8, Titan Books
Jesus on Mars / Иисус на Марсе 1982, fb2, ISBN: 0-586-05308-5, Panther / Granada
Dark Is the Sun / Темное солнце 1979, fb2
The Unreasoning Mask / Бессмысленная маска (= Нерассуждающая маска) 2007, fb2, ISBN: 978-1-58567-715-3, The Overlook Press
A Barnstormer in Oz / Лицедей в стране Оз (= Паршивый актер из Страны Оз) 1982, fb2
The Caterpillar's Question / Проблема с гусеницами 1992, fb2, ISBN: 0-441-09488-0, Ace (соавтор: Piers Anthony)
Naked Came the Farmer 1998, fb2, ISBN: 0-9624613-7-7, Mayfly Productions
Повести и рассказы:
A Bowl Bigger Than Earth 1967, fb2
UPD Релиз обновлен 23.06.2015
To Your Scattered Bodies Go1
His wife had held him in her arms as if she could keep death away from him.
He had cried out, "My God, I am a dead man!" The door to the room had opened, and he had seen a giant, black, one-humped camel outside and had heard the tinkle of the bells on its harness as the hot desert wind touched them. Then a huge black face topped by a great black-turban had appeared in the doorway. The black eunuch had come in through the door, moving like a cloud, with a gigantic scimitar in his hand. Death, the Destroyer of Delights and the Sunderer of Society, had arrived at last.
Blackness. Nothingness. He did not even know that his heart had given out forever. Nothingness.
Then his eyes opened. His heart was beating strongly. He was strong, very strong! All the pain of the gout in his feet, the agony in his liver, the torture in his heart, all were gone.
It was so quiet he could hear the blood moving in his head. He was alone in a world of soundlessness.
A bright light of equal intensity was everywhere. He could see, yet he did not understand what he was seeing. What were these things above, beside, below him? Where was he? He tried to sit up and felt, numbly, a panic. There was nothing to sit up upon because he was hanging in nothingness. The attempt sent him forward and over, very slowly, as if he were in a bath of thin treacle. A foot from his fingertips was a rod of bright red metal. The rod came from above, from infinity, — and went on down to infinity. He tried to grasp it because it was the nearest solid object, but something invisible was resisting him. It was as if lines of some force were pushing against him, repelling him.
Slowly, he turned over in a somersault. Then the resistance halted him with his fingertips about six inches from the rod. He straightened his body out and moved forward a fraction of an inch. At the same time, his body began to rotate on its longitudinal axis. He sucked in sir with aloud sawing noise. Though he knew no hold existed for him, he could not help flailing his arms in panic to try to seize onto something.
He was face "down", (or was it up?) Whatever the direction, it was opposite to that toward which he had been looking when he had awakened. Not that this mattered. "Above" him and "below" him the view was the same. He was suspended in space, kept from falling by an invisible and unfelt cocoon. Six feet "below" him was the body of a woman with a very pale skin. She was naked and completely hairless. She seemed to be asleep: Her eyes were closed, and her breasts rose and fell gently. Her legs were together and straight out and her arms were by her side. She turned slowly like a chicken on a spit.
The same force that was rotating her was also rotating him. He spun slowly away from her, saw other naked and hairless bodies, men, women, and children, opposite him in silent spinning rows. Above him was the rotating naked and hairless body of a Negro.
He lowered his head so that he could see along his own body. He was naked and hairless, too. His skin was smooth, and the muscles of his belly were ridged, and his thighs were packed with strong young muscles. The veins that had stood out like blue mole-ridges were gone. He no longer had the body of the enfeebled and sick sixty-nine-year-old man who had been dying ply a moment ago. And the hundred or so scars were gone.
He realized then that there were no old men or women among the bodies surrounding him. All seemed to be about twenty-five years old, though it was difficult to determine the exact age, since the hairless heads and pubes made them seem older and younger at the same time.
He had boasted that he knew no fear. Now fear ripped away the cry forming in this throat. His fear pressed down on him and squeezed the new life from him He had been stunned at first because he was still living. Then his position in space and the arrangement of his new environment had frozen his senses. He was seeing and feeling through a thick semi-opaque window. After a few seconds something snapped inside him. He could almost hear it, as if a window had suddenly been raised.
The world took a shape which he could grasp, though he could not comprehend it. Above him, on both sides, below him, as far as he could see, bodies floated. They were arranged in vertical and horizontal rows. The up-and-down ranks were separated by red rods, slender as broomsticks, one of which was twelve inches from the feet of the sleepers and the other twelve inches from their heads. Each body was spaced about six feet from the body above and below and on each side.
The rods came up from an abyss without bottom and soared into an abyss without ceiling. That grayness into which the rods and the bodies, up and down, right and left, disappeared was neither the sky nor the earth. There was nothing in the distance except the lackluster of infinity.
On one side was a dark man with Tuscan features. On his other side was an Asiatic Indian and beyond her a large Nordic looking man. Not until the third revolution was he able to determine what was so odd about the man. The right arm, from a point just below the elbow, was red. It seemed to lack the outer layer of skin.
A few seconds later, several rows away, he saw a male adult body lacking the skin and all the muscles of the face.
There were other bodies that were not quite complete. Fat away, glimpsed unclearly, was a skeleton and a jumble of organs inside it.
He continued turning and observing while his heart slammed against his chest with terror. By then he understood that he wan in some colossal chamber and that the metal rods were radiating some force that somehow supported and revolved millions — maybe billions — of human beings.
Where was this place? Certainly, it was not the city of Trieste of the Austro-Hungarian Empire of 1890.
It was like no hell or heaven of which he had ever heard or read, and he had thought that he was acquainted with every theory of the afterlife.
He had died. Now he was alive. He had scoffed all his life at a life-after-death. For once, he could not deny that he had been wrong. But there was no one present to say, "I told you so, you damned infidel!" Of all the millions, he alone was awake.
. . .
The Two-edged Gift1
Paul Eyre shot a flying saucer.
On this bright morning, he was walking through a farmer’s field. Ahead of him was the edge of a wood bisected by a small creek. Riley, the setter, had just stiffened. Nose down, crouched low, seeming to vibrate, he pointed toward the magnet, the invisible quail. Paul Eyre’s heart pumped a little faster. Ahead of Riley, a few yards away, was a bush. Behind it should be the covey.
They broke loose with that racket that had made him jump so when he was a novice. It was as if the earth had given violent birth to several tiny planets. But there was not the dozen or so he had expected. Only two. The lead one was much larger than the other, so much larger that he did jump then. He knew as the shotgun roared and kicked that it was not a bird.
The concentrated pattern of his modified choke must have hit the thing squarely. It fell away at a forty-five degree angle instead of dropping as a dead bird drops, and it crashed through the lower branches of a tree on the outskirts of the wood.
Automatically, he had fired the second barrel at the trailing bird. And he had missed it.
The thing had rocketed up like a quail. But it had been dark and about two feet long. Or two feet wide. His finger had squeezed on the trigger even as his mind had squeezed on the revelation that it was not a winged creature.
It wasn’t a creature, he thought, but a made thing. More like a huge clay pigeon than anything else.
He looked around. Riley was a white and black streak, running as if a cougar were after him. He made no noise. He seemed to be conserving his breath as if he knew he’d need every atom of oxygen he could get. Behind him was a trail of excrement. Ahead of him, over half a mile up the slope, was a white farmhouse and two dark-red barns.
Roger, Paul’s son, had spoken of mines which flew up into the air before exploding. This thing had not been attached to a chain nor had it blown up. It could be a dud. But there had been no blast as it soared up. Perhaps the noise of his shotgun had covered it.
He shook his head. It could not have been anything like that. Unless ... Had some vicious person put it in the field just to kill hunters? Senseless violence was on the increase in this God-forsaking country.
The situation was much like that of a car that refused to run. You could think about it all you wanted to and make mental images of what was wrong. But until you opened the hood and looked at the engine, you would not be able to make a definite analysis. So he would open the hood.
He walked forward. The only sound was the northwest wind, gentle here because the woods broke it. The bluejay and the crows that had been so noisy before he had fired were quiet. There was the bluejay, sitting on a tree branch. It seemed frozen with shock.
He was cautious but not afraid, he told himself. He had been afraid only three times in his life. When his father had deserted him, when his mother had died, and when Mavice had said she was leaving him. And these three events had taught him that nothing was as bad as he’d thought it at the time and that it was stupid, illogical to fear. He and his brothers and sisters and mother had gotten along without his father. His mother’s death had actually made his life easier. And Mavice had not left him.
‘Only the unimaginative, of whom you are the king, have no fear,’ Tincrowdor had told him. But what did that effete egg-head know of real life or real men?
Nevertheless, he hesitated. He could just walk away, round up the dog, and hunt elsewhere. Or, better, tell Smith that someone had planted a strange mechanical device in his field.
Perhaps, though he did not like to admit it, his sight had betrayed him. Behind his glasses were fifty-four-year-old eyes. He was in good shape, better than most men twenty years younger. Much better than that Tincrowdor, who sat on his locus all day while he typed away on his crazy stories.
Still, he had been informed by the optometrist that he needed a new prescription. He had not told anyone about this. He hated to admit to anyone that he had a weakness, and that anyone included himself. When he had a chance to get fitted with new lenses, with no one except the doctor the wiser, he’d go. Perhaps he should not have put it off so long.
He resumed walking slowly across the field. Once, he looked toward the farmhouse. Riley, his pace undiminished, was still headed toward it. When he caught Riley, he’d rap him a few on the nose and shame him. If he were ruined by this, he’d get rid of him. He couldn’t see feeding something that was useless. The hound ate more than he was worth as it was.
He could imagine what Mavice would say about that. ‘You’re going to retire in eleven years. Would you want us to give you away or send you to the gas chamber because you’re useless?’
And he’d say, ‘But I won’t be. I’ll be working as hard as ever on my own business after I’ve retired.’
He was ten feet from the wood when the yellow haze drifted out from it.
. . .
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