"John DeChancie - Skyway 2 - Red Limit Freeway" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dechancie John)

content and quality when I saw two husky fellows reel bare-headed out the front door and stagger to
their funny-looking land jumper. I let down the port and sniffed. Pleasant odors, some nameless, some
familiar. I rather liked this place already.
"Anyone hungry?" I said.
"Hold out your arm," Susan answered, unstrapping hurriedly, "and don't bother with the salt."
I was pretty tired of hotpak dinners and moldy stuff from the cooler, too.
We were all packed up and out of the rig in nothing flat. The bad roller looked pretty grim, afflicted with
leprous white patches of crystallization. From here on in, every meter it rolled would be a risk. No
matter; I was fairly sure there'd be a garage nearby. We'd put on the spare, and not give too much
thought to how bad it was.
I stood at the edge of the parking lot, checking out escape routes. Habit. A second highway intersected
Route 22 here, another logging road, or rabbit trail, I couldn't tell which. Sam had a clear path to leave
on short notice, if necessary,, unless someone parked next to him blocking the road. From the looks of
these vehicles, though, he'd have no trouble nudging them aside if he had to. You'd have to see Sam up
alongside your average four-roller buggy to appreciate how big he is.
I opened a channel on Sam's key, an oblong orange plastic box that was a radio, among other things.
"Okay, Sam, I guess we're staying here overnight. You be all right?"
"Sure, have fun. And call me every so often. Leave the beeper on."
"Right. I'll patch you through when we go in to eat and lift a few cold ones. We'll have a lot to talk over."
"Good. "
I closed the key: Susan was beside me, clucking and shaking her head.
"Poor Sam," she said.
"Eh?"
"He always has to stay behind, doesn't he? It's sad."
I reopened the key. "Hear that, Sam? Suzie thinks you've got nothing to do all by your lonesome. She's
all worried."
"Hm? Oh, hell, don't worry about me."
Susan reddened. "I didn't ... I meant..."
"I got a stack of crotch magazines I haven't looked at yet, and let's see, there's that model ship I'm putting
together. . . have to write thank-you notes for the shower gifts ... should wash my hair... and I can always
wank off. "
Susan scrunched up her face in pain. "Oh, you two are terrible!" She ran off, laughing.

"Welcome to Talltree!"
"Thanks," I told the big-boned, flannel-shirted man at the desk. "Good name."
His eyes twinkled. "We stayed up all night to think of it."
I looked around the lobby. It was big, fully two stories high with an open-beam ceiling. The rugs were
sewn animal hides; the furniture looked handmade. The appointments were rustic yet tasteful. "Quite a
place you have here," I said.
He swelled visibly, and his grin was broad. "Thank you! It's my pride and joy. Built most of it with my
bare hands." He winked. "And a little help."
"Well, you did a good job. I was expecting something more primitive on a planet like this."
"This is one of the most sophisticated log structures on Talltree," he informed me. He pointed upward. "I
designed those cantilever trusses myself. You can do a lot with the local wood, though. Strong as
iron-high tensile strength."
"Interesting."
The lobby was filled with people, young men mostly, joking, hooting, jostling each other. They drank
from pewter mugs, sloshing beer onto the floorboards. The crowd appeared to be the overflow from the
bar, called the Vorpal Blade.
"I hear a lot of English being spoken," I said.