"Harry Harrison - Bill 2 - On The Planet Of Robot Slaves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

emerged triumphant with the remains of Bill's spare bottle of booze. "And
while you are doing that I am going to do a little catching up with you
teaheads, dopeheads and boozeheads. Work!" The sun was high in the sky
before the job was done. The admiral was snoring happily, the depleted bottle
clutched in his limp fingers. Bill pried it away and drained the little booze
that was left before waking him up. "Whuzha?" "All done, sir. Ready to
march." Praktis started to speak, coughed instead, then held his head in
both hands and moaned. "Well... I'm not. Not until I've had a handful of
pills." He fumbled through his wallet for a bottle, shook out a dozen tablets
and ordered water in a cracked voice. The pharmaceutical dynamite worked its
wonders and he finally permitted Bill to help him to his feet. "Load up.
Get Cy over here at once with the compass." The heavily laden technician
staggered up and passed over the instrument, pointing out the heading to be
followed. Praktis plugged his pocket computer to a small speaker, mounted this
on one epaulet, then searched the digitalized molecular memory for, music.
Found a merry marching tune, then played it46at full scratchy volume while
he led his brave little band out into the desert. As soon as they were
gone the rats emerged from hiding, searched what had been left behind for
edible remains, then turned their eager attention to the mountain of garbage
which was well cooked and finally cooled enough to be consumed. The shuffle of
feet and the sound of music soon died away. The ,only sound to break the
desert stillness was the crunch of rodent jaws. Into this gustatory
paradise something penetrated. A new sound perhaps, a new presence. Rat after
rat lifted its furry head, twitched ears and whiskers. Leapt down from the
mountain of mashed munchies and sought shelter. Something dark and
ominous, low and broad and metallic whirred into sight over the top of a dune.
Metal clanked against metal and there was a quick burst of sharp bleeping.
Something passed beside the mountain of steaming garbage, past the burnt out
spacer, and slowly up the dune beyond. When silence once more wrapped the
garbage in its. pristine mantle the rats reemerged and resumed noshing.
Ignoring the trail of footprints that led away through the sand. A trail now
obscured by the tracks of something that pursued the valiant little band of
survivors. C H A P T E R 6 47 Admiral Praktis marched proudly at the
head of his brave little band, arching to the jolly drumbeat of the music that
was deafening his right ear. Up dune and down dune and up dune once again.
Until he looked over his shoulder and saw that he was alone in the desert. His
burst of panic was allayed when the first of his straggling followers stumbled
into sight. It was Meta striving manfully, womanfully rather, under her load.
The others weren't doing quite as well. Praktis sat down and tapped his
fingers on his knee and muttered to himself until they had all managed to
stagger up. "We are going to have to do better than this." "Watch that
royal We, Praktis," Captain Bly sneered. "Your We is not carrying packs while
our We is." "You are being subordinate, Captain!" "You bet your sweet
ass I am, sawbones. I was in this man's navy when you were still in premed. We
are in a live and die situation here. Probably die. So I don't move until you
carry your share." "This is mutiny!" "Sure is," Meta said aiming her
blaster between his eyes. "Ready for your pack?" Praktis saw the merits of
her argument and only48muttered in protest when another pack appearedhad
this been planned from the start?-and was loaded onto his shoulders. After
this redivision of their burdens they proceeded if not at a smarter pace, at