"Michael P. Kube - McDowell - The Quiet Pools" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kube-McDowell Michael P)

tanker a threat, activated the gate defenses, and transmitted an alert to
corpsec throughout the grounds.

"Now sending kill-Q," said Isaac.

A half dozen flyers were queued up in the accumulation lane outside the
barbican's tunnels. They settled to the ground as one as Sentinel abruptly
took command of their pilot systems. But the tanker kept coming, its
systems refusing the insistent commands. In seconds the tanker would
smash into the stalled flyers and their human occupants.

"It's stall-shielded," the corpsec realized.

Sentinel had already drawn the same conclusion and made the only
possible decision. With almost tangible reluctance, Sentinel exercised
what control it had, and the flyers suddenly rose up and scattered like a
flock of birds. That ended the risk to life. It also cleared the way to the
gate.

"Fire authority," snapped the corpsec. "Blow it off the bridge."

"Road sensors show the tanker is fully loaded. There's no way to know
what's in it," the construct said. "Sorry."

The corpsec swallowed hard. "Jesus, I hope they built this tower
goodтАФ"

At the end of the bridge, spikes rising from the roadbed shredded the
tanker's tires, but could not halt it. The tanker reached the final concrete
apron outside the twin tunnels of the barbican, now sealed by heavy doors,
and abruptly slewed into a sideways skid. Moments later it slammed into
the wall of steel and stone.

The corpsec grabbed for a handhold as the tower shuddered and
swayed. But there was no explosion, no alarming creaking and rending.
The corpsec looked toward Isaac's room scanner with a look of relief and
drew a deep breath to clear the poison of fear from his lungs.

"That wasn't so bad," Isaac said.

"No," said the corpsec, going to the window. Peering down at the
barbican, he saw the tanker crushed sideways against the entrance gates,
bleeding a yellow-brown soup from its belly. The fast-running pool of
liquid had already reached the east edge of the apron and begun to spread
across the hard earth and brown grass.

Grabbing his viewer, the corpsec trained it on the spill. Wraithlike
white wisps played in the air above its surface. "I don't like the looks of
that."