"Keith Laumer - Bolos 8 - Bolo Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

"What is it?" Jaime asked the machine. 'Target approaching from the east," the Bolo replied.
"Bearing zero-nine-eight, range one hundred twelve meters."

Jaime moved to a point where he could see back down the eastern slope of the hill. He could make
out the slave camp and, further south, the dig, the crater, and the sprawl of the ruined city, but
he couldn't see anything that might have triggered the Bolo s threat warnings.

"Are you sure? I don't see a thing." "Affirmative. Bearing zero-nine-seven, range one hundred
eight meters, and closing."

The target must be just behind the nearest piles of rubble, down below the crest of the hill. It
was dark and he could see nothing but the vague shapes of

37 shattered houses, but the Bolo, he knew, could draw on senses extending far beyond merely human
scope and reach.

"Is it a machine?" He moved closer to the Bolo, hoping that his silhouette was lost against the
dark mass of the big machine. If the !.!"! found him here, he could not rely on Hector to protect
him. Quite the contrary, in fact. It was distinctly possible that Hector's new masters could order
him to squash the human slave crouching in his shadow like a small and insignificant insect.

"Negative. The target is human."

Human! That might mean another suicide, someone coming up to take the Hector Option. It could also
be a turner, maybe one who'd seen him slipping out of camp or scrambling out of the sewage trench
and who'd decided to follow him. Turners were rewarded by their Masters for such diligence, with
better food, diy clothing, and even their choice of bedmates, male or female, from among the slave
population.

At least a human opponent would offer surmountable odds. Jaime had no illusions about how a
wrestling match with a clacker would end, especially with him as weak as he was now.

"Range eighty-nine meters."

He saw him... no, her. It was a woman, tall, slender. Her face, body, and long hair were mud-
smeared. She wore more than most of the slaves did nowadays, a ragged pair of cutoffs; there was
no silver band on her forehead, though. She was no trusty.

A slave, then, come to find a quick and relatively painless ending to the pain. She kept coming up
the slope, stumbling, weaving a little as she walked. She I' faltered when she reached the bloody,
sharp-edged ridge delineating the fifty-meter line. Then she squared her shoulders and kept on
coming.

"Halt," the Bolo said, and the word was so sudden that Jaime started at the sound. "Identify
yourself."


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