"Alan Dean Foster - Icerigger 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

the only people they could inform off their predicament were each other.

Worse, unless by a very long, long chance someone had seen the boat tumbling toward the surface,
no one would cone looking for them, no one would believe they were alive. Including Walther's
partners, who'd be expecting him a few kilometers from the town.

Ethan didn't mind frozen food-but he wasn't ready to become some!

Thinking it over, he had to confess that his prospects for the immediate future were anything but
heartwarming. Or any-thing warming. On the other hand, he never made a sale by sitting on his duff
and waiting for the customer to come to him. At least moving around would keep his blood from
getting any funny ideas about going on strike.

He scrambled to his feet. The hood fit loosely over his head but the goggles and shield were
adjustable and mugged down tight.



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"Where do you think you're going?" asked Colette.

"Outside, to have a look at the neighborhood. And to see if there's a store around that sells
electric beds."

He snapped the top snap on the coat, tried to tighten the floppy hood and failed. Flip went the
goggles. Things imme-diately grew darker. He had to fumble twice before he got a hand on the door
latch. Turn and push-so.

It didn't budge-so.

He shoved again. "Stuck."

" Oh deity!" she began, "save us from such awesome, over-whelming, analytic ... !"

That was another good reason for getting outside. The door received a good swift kick and a couple
of choice curses.

Either the kick knocked it free, or maybe the curses had a warming effect on the frozen joints. In
any case, it popped open a few centimeters. From there it moved, reluctantly, on its bearings.

He shut the door carefully behind him and turned. Making sure of his footing-the snow could have
covered all kinds of holes-he started down the center aisle of the ship. Cold flakes crunched
under his feet. It sounded as though he was walking on glass. The wind moaned and howled through
the torn metal. His breath formed a tiny cumulus cloud, a small shadow of life that stayed just
ahead of ham.

He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting. They seemed pitifully tiny in the frozen air.
Each breath was pain-ful, full of bee-stings and wire-wool.