"Peter F. Hamilton - A Second Chance At Eden" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F)

techniques when I arrived. A drifter with little ambition, even less education, but just enough
sense to realize this was different, something I could immerse myself in, maybe even make a
go of. It was new for everybody, we were all beginners and learners. They took me on as a
driver and general dogsbody.
Wes joined three months later. A hardware specialist, or nerd, depending on your
prejudice. An essential addition to a sport whose sophistication was advancing on a
near-daily basis. He maintained the clone vats, computer stacks, and Khanivore's life-support
units, plus a thousand other miscellaneous units.
We were doing all right, Jacob's Banshees, as we were known back then, battling hard
for cult status. A decent win ratio, pushing sixty per cent. Jacob and Karran were still
massively in debt, but they were making the monthly interest payments. The purse money was
enough to keep us independent while our contemporaries were scrambling for syndicate
backing. Poor but proud, the oldest kick in the book. Waiting for the whole sport to earn
cable interest and turn big time. It would happen, all the teams knew that.
Then I had my mishap, and acquired my killer edge.
The buzz from the hub motors on the other two vans faded away, and the rest of the
team joined me among the weeds and cat pee of the yard's concrete. According to a London
Administration Council sign on the gates the yard had been designated as a site for one of the
proposed Central-South dome's support pillars. Though God knows when construction would
ever begin. Central-North dome was visible above the razor wire trimming the yard's wall. A
geodesic of amber-tinted crystal, four kilometres in diameter, squatting over most of the
Westminster district like some kind of display case for the ancient stone buildings
underneath. The struts were tiny considering the size of it, a type of superstrong fibre grown
in orbit, glinting prismatically in the achingly bright sun. Empty gridworks for the Chelsea
and Islington domes were already splintering the sky on either side of it. One day all cities
will be like this, sheltering from the hostile climate which their own thermal emission has
created. London doesn't have smog any more. Now it just has heat shimmer, the air wobbling
in the exhaust vents of twenty-five million conditioning nozzles. The ten largest ones are
sitting on the Central-North dome, like black barnacles spewing out the surplus therms in
huge fountains of grey haze. London Administration Council won't allow planes to fly over it
for fear of what those giant lightless flames will do to airflow dynamics.
Karran came over to stand beside me, setting a wide panama hat over her ruff of Titian
hair. Ivrina stood a few paces back, wearing just a halter top and sawn-off jeans; UV proofing
treatment had turned her Arctic-princess skin a rich cinnamon. Wes snaked an arm
protectively round her waist as she sniffed disapprovingly at the grungy air.
"So how's the vibes, Sonnie?" Karran asked.
They all fell silent, even Jacob who was talking to the roadie boss. If a Baiting team's
fighter hasn't got the right hype then you just pack up and go straight home. For all their
ingenuity and technical back-up, the rest of the team play no part in the bout. It's all down to
me.
 "Vibes is good," I told them. "I'll have it wrapped in five minutes."
There was only one time when I'd ever doubted. A Newcastle venue that matched us
against the King Panther team. It turned into a bitch of a scrap. Khanivore was cut up pretty
bad. Even then, I'd won. The kind of bout from which Baiter legends are born.
Ivrina punched a fist into her palm. "Atta girl!" She looked hotwired, spoiling for
trouble. Anyone would think she was going to boost Khanivore herself. She certainly had the
right fire for it; but as to whether she had the nerve to go for my special brand of killer edge I
don't know.
It turned out that Dicko, the arena's owner, was a smooth organizer. Makes a change.
Some bouts we've wondered if the place even existed, never mind having backstage gofers.