"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 5 - Flinx in Flux" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

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way to the lake on foot.
It looked like an oversize chrome canoe on wheels, roofed in plexalloy and
articulated in the middle. The highly polished sides reflected much of the
burning sunlight, not critical here beneath the trees but vitally important for
cooling purposes when out on lake or river. Armored grillwork shielded the
underside, protecting sensitive machinery. It was not much wider than the
driver's seat, which enabled it to pass between those trees it was incapable of
knocking over. What it really was, was a giant, mobile heat exchanger, able to
convey its passengers in relative comfort across Alaspin's humid, hot
countryside.
Flinx had rented it in Mimmisompo, paying with a credcard whose rating, while
not astronomical, had lifted the eyebrows of the merchant doing the leasing.
The crawler traveled on double treads, one fore and the other aft. It could
carry three passengers seated single file behind the driver. There were no other
passengers except Pip, and he really did not need such a large vehicle, but it
was the smallest he could find on short notice. So he had shrugged and overpaid.
It made even better time on the river than it did on land. An aircar would have
been faster, but there were none for rent in Mimmisompo. The prospectors and
scientists kept them busy ferrying friends and supplies. Flinx had come with
money but no pull. In a small frontier city the latter was often the more
important medium of exchange. So he had been forced to settle for the crawler.
No matter. He was only a few days out of town and on his way back. Having
established a trail on his way in, it would take him a quarter of the time to
return to the river, carefully dodging the leafy emergents the crawler had been
unable to push over. Once back on the river, he would be traveling downstream
instead of fighting the current. He was looking forward to spending one more
night in a hotel instead of the crawler's cramped quarters.
Mimmisompo sat on the edge of an immense sandy beach, high and dry in the clear
season and sopping in the wet. The shuttleport lay farther inland. It occupied
one of the few high bits of land in the region, immune to seasonal flooding. Not
the sort of place one would choose for a relaxing vacation, but he was anxious
to return to it now.
At the top of the ladder built into the side of the crawler he paused to run a
magnetic field key over the lock, and heard it click open in response. A blast
of cool air struck him as be climbed inside, settled into his seat, and nudged a
switch to close the door behind him. Probably no need to lock the vehicle out
here in the middle of nowhere, but he had learned early on that the middle of
nowhere was a country often frequented by unsavory types, and while the odds of
anyone stumbling across the crawler were small, he felt more comfortable when
they were entirely in his favor. The sight of an expensive vehicle sitting open
and unguarded might be too tempting for even an honest prospector to ignore.
The mental flavor of the five departed young minidrags no longer lingered in his
mind, but the crawler's cabin was still pungent with their odor. It was musky
but not unpleasant. The recycler would soon have it cleared out. Curved metal
ribs supported the otherwise transparent plexalloy walls and domed roof. After a
quick survey of his immediate surroundings he began switching on instruments.