"Jack McKinney - Sentinels 03 - Death Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

irrelevant to the nature of these negotiations, but again we wish to stress that the Sentinels' cause was a
misguided one from the start. It was inevitable that they fail sooner or later."

A charged silence fell over the auditorium, and Edwards had to restrain himself from laughing. The
Sentinels had not been heard from for four months now. Official word had it that the Farrago was
maintaining radio silence for strategic reasons. Then, recently, there had been open speculation that the
ship had been badly damaged during the battle for Praxis. But Edwards knew better. He felt Minmei's
trembling grasp on his upper arm. Colonel Adams, also seated in the front row, leaned forward to throw
him a knowing look.

"We have only recently lost contact with the Farrago," Professor Lang was saying. "But I'm certain that
once communications are re-established and an accord of some sort is enacted, Admiral Hunter and the
others will abide by its terms and return to Tirol."

The Invid crossed his massive arms. "Yes, I'm sure they would have honored it, Dr. Lang. But I'm afraid
it's too late. Four months ago the Sentinels' ship was destroyed-with all hands aboard."
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A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and Edwards heard Minmei begin to sob. "Rick...Jonathan," she
said, struggling to her feet, only to collapse across Edwards's lap.

Someone nearby screamed. Lang and the rest of the council were standing, their words swallowed up in
the noise of dozens of separate conversations. News personnel and members of the general staff were
rushing from the room. Edwards snapped an order to his aide to summon a doctor. Adams, meanwhile,
was shoving onlookers aside.

Edwards held Minmei protectively. Once again he sought out the Invid's lustrous eyes; and in that glance
a pact was affirmed.

But on Praxis the dead walked-those Sentinels who had escaped the destruction of the Farrago, and,
unknown to them, a deadly host of archaic creatures returned to life in the bowels of the planet's
abandoned Genesis Pits...

"Take a look for yourself," Vince Grant suggested, stepping back from the scanner's monitor screen.
Rick Hunter and Jonathan Wolff leaned in to regard the image centered there: an intact drive module that
had been blown clear of the ship and had fallen into low orbit around Praxis. Vince was reasonably
certain the module's Protoculture-peat engines were undamaged.

"And there's no way to call it down?" Rick asked. "A hundred miles or so and an Alpha could reach the
thing." Normally, one could fly a Veritech to the moon and back, but not one of the Sentinels'
all-but-depleted Alphas was capable of attaining escape velocity.

Vince shook his head, his brown face grim. "We barely have enough power to keep the nets alive."

"Then it might as well be a million miles away," Wolff thought to add.

Vince switched off the screen and the three men sat down to steaming mugs of tea one of the Praxians