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

At least he had one item he should be able to unload com-pletely on the natives. The Asandus line
was made on Amrop-olous and was a marvel of power and miniaturization. One of the pocket-sized
heaters could maintain a fair-sized room at sunbathing temperature even in trannish climate. Since
the natives were adapted to extreme cold, an Asandus ought to last almost indefinitely. Just keep
the heat up to zero and let grandpaw and the kiddies, luxuriate.

Without some such device, and with winds up to 300k pro-ducing a really ridiculous chill factor, a
human caught unpro-tected on the surface of Tran-ky-ky for even a few minutes would be good for
nothing but snow sculpture afterward.

Come to think of it, there'd probably be a few humans in the settlement who'd be glad of a little
luxury heater they could pack along in their scooters. They couldn't see his class of merchandise


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too often out here. Now if he could only keep his hands from shaking while he set the burner up .
.

His mind was already well into a sales pitch of heroic pro-portions when he turned the corner to
the. personal baggage area and came upon a tableau that was all very wrong.

Five humans were clustered around a lifeboat port. Said port was open. Very, very wrong. Had a
lifeboat drill begun while he'd lead a lapse of deafness? He could hear his heart beating. Well,
ears fine, but message from eyes still wrongo.

Ah yes, it was definitely the eyes. Two of the men were waving lasers about with drunken
nonchalance.

One of the. gun-wielders, a short ferret-faced chap with a bad case of the digests, kept his laser
more or less focused on an older man attempting to put up a bold front. That worthy was clad in an
exquisitely cut suit of snappy emeraldine laid over a ruffled shirt of deep azure. To, the left of
this nattily -attired sexagenarian, a mousey-looking little guy was eyeing the gun almost as if he
was considering tackling its owner.

The other gunman was a huge chunk of brown with flat face, rainbow-hued teeth, and formidable
biceps. Right now he was. trying to control his laser and subdue a package of squalling,
scratching femininity that was apparently human. Apparently, because it seemed to have eight legs
and twelve arms, all pinwheeling at once. The curses that issued from some-where within the
bundle, though, were undeniably Terranglo.

Ethan caught a few and blushed. Her handler was cursing also, a basso profundo-or profano-
counterpoint to the girl. Ethan wondered what she looked like. She was moving so much he couldn't
tell.

His attention was, drawn back to weasel-face, who was talking to- the older man.

"I'm not going to tell you again, du Kane! You want us to knock you out?" The hand .holding the