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

After over ten years in space, Trent no longer considered himself a downsider. It was a mistake no one
not fresh from Earth would have made. No SpaceFarer, no loonie, Halfer, or Belter . . . nobody but a
downsider would have tried to shoot him with an impact weapon while standing on the surface of a one
kilometer long asteroid that had no gravity to speak of.

With his right hand, Trent reached over and tapped the radio bar on his left wrist.

" -- means Death! Death you imbe -- " The shrieking Chihuahua's voice ceased in mid-word.

After most of a minute had passed, a extra-large form in a custom scalesuit, much like Trent's own,
appeared and floated over Trent.

Over their secure suit channel, Trent's "bodyguard" -- Andrew Strawberry, a Reverend of the Temples
of Eris, former World Football League star -- said, "What are you doing down there?"

Fighting for breath, Trent answered through his inskin, had the inskin transmit the message to his suit
radio, which turned it into speech for Reverend Andy. I got shot.

Reverend Andy did something that might have looked vaguely amusing to a downsider fresh from Earth;
he held his hands out at right angles to his body, briefly mirroring the crucified holograph of Porky Pig,
ten meters behind him. The maneuvering rockets at his wrists came alive, two strong blasts; he did a slow
pirouette, three hundred and sixty degrees. "I don't see him."

"People don't . . . listen," said Trent, gasping for breath. "Nobody ever listens."

Reverend Andy completed his revolution, came to a nearly perfect stop with another blast of his wrist
rockets. "Too true," Reverend Andy agreed. "It's the problem of our times. What did you do with him?"

The gravity at the asteroid's surface was effectively non-existent; moving slowly, Trent came to his feet,
ignoring the stab of pain in his ribs when he straightened out. Silently, the bad-tempered Chihuahua
continued to chew both of them out.

"Nothing. He used an impact weapon." Trent pointed out toward the stars. "Unless he's a lot better with
his wrist rockets than I think he is, he's out there. Heading for Mars at about ten meters per second."

Reverend Andy's head swiveled to look, as though he thought he could make out the man's pressure suit
against the background of black space, stars, and the occasional distant glint of burning rockets.
"Really."

Trent winced at the jabbing pain. "Man, I tried to tell him."

The Temple of 'Toons Asteroid is large by Belt standards, a roughly oval rock nearly a kilometer in
length along its long axis. Back in 2053 braking rockets had matched its orbit to that of the Belt CityState
of Gandhi, at Ceres. It trails Ceres in its dance around the sun, only five kilometers distant: in 2080,
twenty-seven years after opening for business, it is one of the oldest and busiest tourist attractions in the
Belt.

The Museum of Animated Art which is located there was not always a Belt institution. It had been
founded over eighty years previously, in Culver City, California, by the great Swami Dave Leary, a Hare
Krishna whose teachings had, so legend said, helped inspire the Prophet Harry to give up waiting tables