"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 04 - Alien Salute" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

Jack woke, groggily, on his back on one of the exercise mats, his face still
clammy with sweat. Jack looked up, his neck stiff and cramped, and
stretched. Over him stood a white suit of battle armor, opalescent Flexalinks
muted by the dimmed lights of a ship in downtime. The deadly gauntlet,
powerful enough to crush his skull, each finger the firing barrel of a
destructive weapon, was poised, curving over him as though in benediction.

Jack smiled, grasped the gauntlet and got to his feet.

*Hi, boss.*

"Hello, Bogie. Feeling better?"

The regenerating being that now occupied his battle armor paused. *I'm
cold.*

Jack bent over to loosen the muscles in his legs preparatory to finding the
refresher and cleaning up. He craned his neck to look back. "It's standard
temp in here, buddy."

He returned to his standing position and frowned. He knew little about
the creature in his armor except that it was as fierce in fighting nature as a
Milot berserker, but hadn't, thank god, the cannibalistic, parasitic tendencies
of the giant saurians. Jack had not been sure about that at first, and had been
haunted by the growing sentience of his battle armor.

More than microscopic, regenerating out of a square of leather that ought
to have been dead tissue, Bogie had been implanted in his suit on Milos
during the Sand Wars, twenty-five years ago. It was hot in a suit. Jack had
welcomed the adaptation by his Milot repair technician. The circuitry and
gear inside occasionally poked and prodded at his back, and the weight of a
field pack with a small-muzzle laser cannon could dig holes in his flesh.
Many of the Knights hung a leather chamois. It had been the death of a lot
of them. Their body heat and sweat could nurture a berserker into parasitic
life. By the time a Knight knew what was happening, he was a consumed
man, trapped inside his suit of armor like it was a meat locker.

Jack looked at his own suit of battle armor.

Bogie had a small towel draped across his left wrist. Jack took it and
mopped his face, wondering briefly where the Milots had gotten the leather
chamois they used for his infestation, thinking that they were implanting a
berserker and giving him Bogie instead. He tossed the towel in the corner.

Unlike a Milot berserker, Bogie had soul. In fact, his mind and soul were
forming far more quickly than his physical being. The chamois hanging
inside the armor showed little change from when it had originally been
placed there. It was a little thicker. If Jack held it between his fingers, he
could sense a pulsing life. Bogie was like an embryo and neither he nor the