"Daniel Keys Moran - A Tale of the Continuing Time 04 - The AI War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

-- and were up again in an instant. Trent dove through the airlock's open door and palmed the pressure
pad the instant Reverend Andy was fully inside, as the four Elite bounded toward them over the surface
of the asteroid. The airlock door slid shut with maddening slowness; one of the Elite brought a variable
laser around on them, got off a shot, through the frames of the two sleds, as the airlock door slid shut
and locked --

Trent's p-suit lost pressure. He glanced down and saw a clean laser score across his abdomen; he'd felt
nothing, but it had breached the suit. His suit reacted as it had been designed, minimizing the exposure to
death pressure: the suit clamped tight around Trent's waist and chest, exposing his midriff to vacuum.
Trent could feel the skin on his stomach prickling as the hard vacuum tugged at it.

Trent had never noticed before how long it took for the airlock to pressurize. The inner airlock door
would not open until the airlock chamber was at a full atmosphere; if the Elite managed to burn through
the outer airlock door first, the inner door would not open at all.

The ground beneath Trent's feet vibrated. He could imagine the scene outside, the improbably strong
Elite swatting aside the sleds as they lined up to shoot at the door --
A red spot appeared on the outer airlock door. A second spot. A third. They converged on each other
--

The inner airlock door began to slide open; Trent squeezed through the instant it was wide enough for
him, with Reverend Andy right behind him. The outer airlock door glowed white, and then the glowing
metal bowed outward with the enormous pressure of the air behind it, and abruptly gave way, spraying
the PKF Elite on the surface outside with the molten metal.

Downsiders, thought Trent as the sirens went off. The inner airlock door slammed shut with a huge
clang: if someone had been caught in the way, even an Elite, the door would have punched through them.
Design decisions: better one person die, or lose a limb, than an entire corridor full.

On outspeakers throughout Ceres, and across all radio channels, the message blared out: "ALERT!
AIRLOCK BREACH AT DOWNLOT 104! AIRLOCK BREACH AT DOWNLOT 104! DEATH
PRESSURE BREACH AT DOWNLOT 104!"

The corridor was deserted; it was just after midnight, Greenwich Mean Time, on Tuesday, January 20,
2080: four hours since Chuck Clearmountain had asked Trent if he was Trent. The asteroid's eighty
thousand Hare Krishnas, forty thousand Buddhists, and three thousand Hindus were all sleeping. Trent
turned and kicked off down the raw stone corridor, pulling his helmet off as Reverend Andy followed
him. He came to a public systerm and punched Emergency, Broadcast, and his voice boomed out
across all of Gandhi CityState:

"THIS IS TRENT THE UNCATCHABLE, THE MAN WHO'S BEEN LIVING AMONG YOU AS
THE PILGRIM AUGUSTUS ALLEN. A SQUAD OF ELITE CYBORGS ARE CUTTING
THROUGH THE LOCK AT DOWNLOT 104 AS I SPEAK. STAY IN YOUR QUARTERS AND
THE ELITE WON'T HARM YOU; THEY'RE AFTER ME. THIS IS TRENT THE
UNCATCHABLE: STAY IN YOUR QUARTERS!"

Reverend Andy had his helmet cracked open when Trent turned around; he started to speak and Trent
overrode him. "Call Vatsayama let them know Elite are here then go to Downlot 16. I'm going to get my
simulations I can't let them fall into PKF hands, if I don't make it to Down-16 in fifteen minutes go, I'll