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

bathed Bill with spaniel eyes of gratitude. "You saved my life," he
whimpered. "Just don't forget that when the next shipment of frozen feet
arrive. I want first pick." "It will be yours! If you are in a hurry I
have a very dainty size three foot that was all that was left of a nurse eaten
by guard dogs." "No, thanks. I'll wait. The one I got now has great combat
possibilities until Mr. Right Foot comes along." "Why are you talking
about combat?" Praktis squeaked. "Because we are in it right now. Or don't
those bombs, shells, and screams of the dying mean anything to you?"
Praktis's moan of agony was drowned out by a thunderous flapping as a shadow
passed over them.15 Bill chanced a quick look out from under the table
and saw that a ponderous dragon was flying in circles above. The dragon saw
his movement with its beady eye, opened its mouth and belched out a tongue of
flame. Bill jerked his head back and the smoky fireball sizzled the floor all
around them. Praktis groaned and quivered. Bill just felt angry. "This is
no way to run a military base. Where are the defenses? The antidragon guns? I
am going to get that scaly mother before it gets me!" As soon as the
dragon had flapped off he scuttled from under the table and dived through the
opening where the wall had been. He wasted just one second admiring the great
amount of damage that the dragon had done so quickly-then dived for cover
again as one of them soared overhead and ejected a stick of bombs from its
cloaca. When the last bits of debris had clattered to the ground he rushed to
the nearest arms locker and tore the door open with a kick with his clawed
heel. "Great, really great!" he chortled and grabbed up the black tube
inside that was lettered SAM in white. "SAM," he said settling the rest
onto his shoulder. "Surface to Air Missile." His index finger caressed the
trigger as he squinted into the sight. A lovely sight of crosshairs on the
round belly of the nearest dragon. "Here's one from the troopers!" he
ejaculated happily as he squeezed the trigger. The SAM clattered and
clicked and a metal arm popped out of the barrel with a flag flapping from the
end. YOU MISSED was embroidered daintily on the flag. "This bowby thing is
nothing but a training16dummy!" Bill howled and hurled it at him. But
the dragon had caught the motion of the flapping flag and wheeled about in a
tight turn. It dived. Smoke blew back from its gaping nostrils as it opened
its mouth to exhale the tongue of lambent flame that would cook Bill like a
chop on a spit. "This is it," Bill muttered bravely. "To die so far from
home-with a chicken foot." Closer the flame came and closer-and the dragon
blew up as a missile got it right in the belly button. "At least someone
found a SAM that works," Bill grunted as the thing crashed onto the the
latrine roof just before him. It made a great clanging sound, instead of the
splatting sound that he had expected. This was explained when the dragon's
head was tom off by the impact and crashed to the ground. Wires and rods
projected from the severed neck, while hydraulic fluid rather than blood
spurted from the broken pipes. "Should have known," he said smugly. "A
machine. Flesh and blood dragons are for the birds. Aerodynamically unsound.
Wings too small for one thing." And while he pondered these eternal
mysteries he looked on with interest as the top of the dragon's head split and
opened like a lid. This was very familiar. Particularly when the
seven-inch-high, fourarmed green creature looked out at him balefully.
"You are a Chinger!" Bill gasped. "Well I'm not a dragon's cerebellum if
that's what you are thinking," the Chinger sneered. Bill groped up a chunk