"Elizabeth Moon - Serrano 5 - Rules of Engagement" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

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CHAPTER ONE
Regular Space Service Training Command,
Copper Mountain Base


Halfway up the cliff, Brun realized that someone was trying to kill her. She had already shifted
weight from her left foot to her right foot when the thought penetrated, and she completed the
movement, ending with her left foot on the tiny ledge almost at her crotch, before she gave her
brain a "message received" signal.

Instantly, her hands slicked with sweat, and she lost the grip of her weaker left hand on the
little knob. She dipped it into her chalk, and reached for the knob again, then chalked her right
hand and refound that hold. That much was mechanical, after these days in training . . . so
someone was trying to kill you, you didn't have to help them by doing something stupid.

She argued with herself, while pushing up, releasing her right leg for the next move. Of course,
in a general way, someone was trying to kill her, or any other trainee. She had known that coming
in. Better to lose trainees here than half-trained personnel in the field, where their failure
would endanger others. Her breath eased, as she talked herself into a sensible frame of mind.
Right foot there, and then the arms moving, finding the next holds, and then the left leg . . .
she had enjoyed climbing almost from the first day of training.

A roar in her ears and the sudden sting on her hand: she was falling before she had time to
recognize the noise and the pain. A shot. Someone had shot at her . . . hit her? Not enough
painтАФmust've been rock splintersтАФthen she hit the end of her rope, and swung into the cliff face
with a force that knocked the breath out of her. Reflexively, her hands and feet caught at the
rock, sought grips, found them, took her weight off the climbing harness. Her head rang, still;
she shook it and the halves of her climbing helmet slid down to hang from the straps like the wing
cases of a crushed beetle.

Damn . . . she thought. Reason be damned, someone was trying to kill herтАФher in particularтАФand
plastered to a cliff in plain sight was not her idea of a good place to be when someone was
shooting at her. She glanced around quickly. UpтАФtoo far, too slow, too exposed. DownтАФ150 feet of
falling in a predictable vertical line, whether free or on the rope. To the right, nothing but
open rock. To the left, a narrow vertical crack. They had been told not to use it this time, but
she'd climbed in it before, learning about cracks and chimneys. If she could get there . . .

She pushed off, and the next shot hit the cliff where her head had been, between head and right
hand. Splinters of rock sprayed her hand, the right side of her face. She did not fall. She lunged
for the next hold, not in a panic but with the controlled speed of someone who knew just where
each hold would be. Whoever it was had some reason not to fire on automatic, at full speed. But
now they knew which way she was going. They could adjust their aim . . . she took a chance, and
her foot slipped on one hold. For an instant, she hung from her arms, feet scrabbling . . . then
she found the hold, and the next. The sheltering crevice was just aheadтАФthis time it was her left
hand that slipped, when she reached too far, and even as she cursed, the next shot shattered the
hold for which she'd reached, loosing a shower of rock.

She didn't hesitate. The breakage offered new holds; in a second she was into the crevice, yanking