"Peter F. Hamilton - Fallen Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F)

mud surface. Rotor downwash sent a flurry of crushed tins and junk-food
wrappers tumbling away from them as the fuselage lost its gray sky-blur
integument, reverting to ominous matte black.
He paused for a moment as the turbines wound down. His personal AS had
extended trawlers to retrieve all the emergency service e-traffic within the local
datapool. The relevant messages were relayed straight through his DNI. A
display grid snapped up within his apparent field of vision, its indigo color,
invisible to the human eye, ensuring it didn't obscure anything in his actual
physical sight. But for all the torrent of information presented to him, he was still
left lamentably short of hard facts. Nobody on the scene had yet established what
had actually happened. So far they just had the one unconfirmed report of a
suited Skin running amok.
His attention flicked to one of the medical grids. He called it up, and five high-
resolution graphs expanded for him as he stepped from the helicopter cabin. The
handheld blood analyzers that the paramedic teams were applying to the victims
were establishing links to the Cairns General Hospital's databank, working
through chemical profiles to identify the agent involved in the poisoning.
Simon put on a pair of old-fashioned wraparound sunglasses. "Interesting," he
murmured. "Do you see this?" He had sent copies of the analyzer results to Z-B's
bioweapons division AS, which gave him a positive match on the agent His DNI
relayed the secure package to Adul.
"Skin toxin," Adul observed. "An updosed incapacitation shot." He shook his
head in disapproval before unfolding his own sunshade membranes across his
nose. "One definite fatality. And those two with allergic reactions are going to
wind up with nerve damage."
"If they're lucky," Simon said. "And only if these paramedics get them to the
hospital fast enough." He ran a hand over his brow, dabbing at a thin layer of
perspiration that had already accumulated in the intense heat "Shall I have the
antidote dispatched to the emergency room?"
"Incapacitation toxins don't need an antidote; they clear automatically. It's
what they're designed for."
"That dosage level will put a hell of a strain on their kidneys, though."
Simon stopped and looked at Adul. "My dear fellow, we're here to investigate
how and why it was used, not to act as nursemaid to a bunch of retarded
civilians who are too slow to duck in the first place."
"Yes, sir."
It was that tone again. Simon thought he might soon be reconsidering Adul's
usefulness as a security operative. In his business, empathy was a valuable trait,
but when it veered into sympathy...
The pair of them threaded their way through the maze of emergency vehicles
parked along the main street. The few clear passages were clogged by people:
locals, sullen and silent, and a few tourists, frightened and excited. Around the
bar's veranda, police officers in their shorts and crisp white shirts milled about
trying to look as if they had a reason and purpose. Their chief, a tall captain in
her mid-forties, wearing full navy blue uniform, stood beside the rail, listening to
a young constable making his excitable report.
Simon's personal AS informed him the officer in charge was Captain Jane
Finemore. A script page containing her service record expanded out of the grid.
He scanned it briefly and dismissed it.
All the police fell silent as Simon and Adul made their way forward. The