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

were filled to the bursting point. "You got more of those seeds, Admiral?"
Bill asked with humble admiration. . "You betcha. So let's dump the iron
rations and the rest of the government-issued junk and press on. Let us see if
we can reach the lights by nightfall." There were groans but no real
complaints. Even the dimmest of the bunch knew that they had to get out of
this desert before their water ran out. Onward they went, and onward still,
until the sun was close to the horizon and Praktis called a halt. "That's
enough for today. I think that we are going to have steak again for dinner, so
that we may go on refreshed in the morning. And we will get a good sight on
those lights tonight. Tummies full, they sat in a ruminant row on the
dune's summit as darkness fell. The first mutters of worry turned to happy
shouts as the huddle of lights appeared on the horizon. Strange rays like
distant51searchlight beams swept the night sky, changing color before
flicking out of sight. "That's it!" Praktis shouted. "And closer too.
We'll get there soon, believe me." They did-and they were wrong. They did
not get there the next day nor the one after that. The lights grew brighter
but appeared no closer. And the water was half gone. "We better be halfway
there," Bill said gloomily kicking aside the empty container. The others
nodded unhappy agreement. They had eaten their steaks and sipped the small
ration of water and it was still early. "Shall I play some music?" Praktis
asked. He had on the other nights, but tonight no one cared. The gloom in
the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. In fact Bill had to cut a bit of
it away to enable him to see the others. "We can tell jokes," he said
brightly. "Or ask riddles. What is black, sits in a tree and is deadly?"
"A crow with a machine-gun," Meta sneered. "That one was old when the universe
was young. I can sing... She was drowned out by cries of protest that died
to mutters and then to silence. It was going to be one of those nights. So
there was a stir of interest when Cy spoke up, for he was ever the silent one,
speaking only when spoken to, usually snarling an answer. "Listen. I
wasn't always. Like this. Different. Not as you see now. I led a different
life. Two different lives. How it began I have never revealed before. How it
ended was tragedy. For I became. Something different. Not proud of it. But it
happened. I was a. . . voodooman." His face twisted ob52scenely as they
gasped. "Yeah. I was. I can tell you of this. If you want." "Yes, tell
us," they cried out and grew close to listen to--CY BERPUNK'S TALE Life
for Cy had the taste of a dead cigar butt. It should. He chewed one. Spit
it out. Drained the dregs of alkpee from the chipped plastic mug. Dropped it.
Crushed it under his spiked heel. Day of judgment. Decision.
Outside he blinked in the nacreous light of the yellow-orange sun. Shards of
styrofoam from the injection works filled the air, turning it into a
regurgitant moire pattern. Time... The crapkicker lolled obscenely
against the insanely cracked patterns of the show window. His skintight
bloodsuit saguinely dripping scarlet shadows over frenchletters and
powderdildos in the window. He did not look up when Cy came near. But knew he
was there. The jewel encrusted squid, pendant from one nostril, quivered in
anticipation. "You got?" he grunted laconically. "Got. You got?"
"Got. Give." "Good." The kreditkard, still warm from Cy's body,
changed hands. The crapkicker sneered laconically. "Reads ten-thousand
bukniks. Deal was ninethousand. Trying cheat me?" "Keep the change.
Give." He gave.53 The RAMchip, disguised as a peanut, slithered from