"Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle - Fallen Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

melts under pressure. There's actually a thin film of pressurized water
underneath the ice. Acts like a lubricant. The bottom layers of the ice are
less rigid than the upper layers; so they crack and slide along sheer planes.
The top layers usually raft on the bottom layers; but if there's rotten snow
in between, the weight of the top layers can extrude the bottom layers like
toothpaste." He grinned.
Sherrine listened to the byplay. Mike so loved playing the expert; but
she supposed most of what he said was nearly enough true to rely on.
Rotten snow. The Eskimos had dozens of different words for snow and ice
to describe its many different phases and properties. We'll have to learn them
all by and by.
others and stared through the windshield. She sucked in her breath, and
even Mike was uncharacteristically silent.
A great half-completed arch of ice was poised over the westbound
lanes, like a tremendous wave frozen in the moment of breaking. "Shit,"
said Steve. It sounded like a prayer.
"Sometimes," said Mike, finding his voice at last, "the upper layers slide
out over the bottom layers."
Bob kept the engine running, but he opened the cab and stepped
outside. Sherrine followed. She pulled her parka hood closed as tightly as
she could and stood in the glare of the van's floods. The others huddled
around her. Beneath the hum of the engine the silence of the night was
broken by muted sounds. The ice snapped; it creaked like an ancient door.
A subsonic groan surrounded them, wrenched at their teeth. " 'The ice was
here, the ice was there, the ice was all aroundтАФ' "
"Onk?" Mike asked.
Bob said, "The Ancient Mariner. Do you think the road to Fargo is still
open?"
"Looks bad," Mike said.
"What do you think?" asked Bruce, scowling at this latest obstacle to his
plans. "Can we make it through? How far does it go?"
Bob whirled on him. "How far? All the way to Regina! How the hell
should I know? The people at AAA told me the road was open, but their
last report was a week old."
A week old! Sherrine looked up at the star-studded night sky. The last
weather satellite had reentered years ago. She remembered sneaking
outside her parents' house in the middle of the night, bundled up against
the chill (oh, to be that warm again!) and watching for the spark that
marked its fall. The newsreaders played it up: the final remnant of
discredited Big Technology was no more. The fact that all low orbits
decayed from atmospheric friction and that all such satellites were
temporary was somehow supposed to prove the folly of "spending money
 As if to punctuate his remarks, the ice moaned and the sound of far off
thunder rolled in their ears. A cloud of ice crystals as fine as mist billowed
toward them out of the darkness. Somewhere farther down the road a part
of the frozen wave had broken off.
She was starting to feel the cold. She gazed longingly at the van. The
others stood around, shuffling their feet and looking at each other. She
waited a moment longer. This has gone on long enough. "The eastbound lanes
are clear," she pointed out.