"Barry B. Longyear - The Hangingstone Rat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

they could move. Settled in at home, there was an online tutorial for my
wireless interface, and with ValтАЩs computer I attempted to occupy my mind
between headaches learning how to use it. In my first net connection I went
to a news site and read the reports on the explosion. Dud shell went off.
The deceased was a duck bio who used to be a telly star. Click here for
animation. Aflak.

I clicked and there were clips taken from several of ShadтАЩs adverts. I
shut it down, closed my eyes, and ran what I knew: By itself the call from
Okehampton Station might have been a hoax. Rather sophisticated hoax,
considering the call had to come in with the proper police codes and
encryption. Still, it could have been a hoax. By itself the explosion might
have been an old dud artillery shell finally grown unstable enough to go up
at that particular place and moment. By itself a shell firing short, falling next
to an observation post unobserved, and being a dud as well might just have
happened. All together, though, it was a bloody stretch of timing that gave
credulity stretch marks.

But why? If it was an attempt to kill one or both of us, why so
involved? As a sniper-for-hire who had been interviewed after being
sentenced once said, тАЬKeep it simple. The more complicated a hit gets, the
more opportunity for mistakes, not to mention a smaller profit margin.тАЭ

Words to live by.

Shad hadnтАЩt been with ABCD long enough to have developed a list of
enemies. The few cases we had worked together all involved rather genteel
malefactors. The most violent encounter Shad and I had was with a
Rottweiler natural in Taunton who objected to being parted from his mate, a
Dandie Dinmont bio named Flossie whose human engrams happened to
be fleeing imprisonment on embezzlement charges. That particular felon
had been remarkably grateful for our intercession. My early decades with
Metro, on the other hand, had produced a virtual army of murderers,
terrorists, and other violent chaps who wouldтАЩve delighted in seeing me
blown to pieces. That was long ago, though. Most of the violent ones from
my Metro years were either dead, living off their book and motion picture
royalties, or dribbling oatmeal down their bibs in prison geriatric wards.
None of them, in addition, were bombers. There was an answer
somewhere, but I couldnтАЩt find it. I took my headache to bed.

****
 Early in the morning on my third day home there was a ring from D. C.
Ralph Parker, our mountain gorilla bio detective with the waste
management problem. тАЬThe chaps at Scientific and Technical concur
with Army Military Police, sir,тАЭ he said. тАЬAs far as they are concerned it
was a dud artillery shell that became unstable and simply popped off.
They found enough bits of casing to identify the shell: an Excalibur Mark
XVII. ThatтАЩs a twenty-five centimeter high explosive smart round for a
long range cannon the army used toward the end of the Twenty-one
hundreds.тАЭ