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

Sherrine was suited up now, hiding her figure. "That was a piece of
luck, wasn't it?" she said, pointing to the half-buried ship. "Thor figured
you'd be melted into the Ice; that's why we brought PopтАФpop's snow
blower. The 'danes will never spot your ship unless they're right on top of
it. Even the landing path blends into the glare of the Ice if you're not
looking for it."
"Danes?" Alex was startled. "We were nowhere near Greenland!"
"No, not Danes. ApostropheтАФdanes, as in 'mundanes.' People with no
imagination. People who couldn't imagine space travel even after it had
happened. The 'danes have inherited the Earth."
He sensed bitterness in her voice and gave her an appraising look while
her friends strapped him into a sledge. He was already wearing her
grandfather's parka. Now they wrapped him in blankets and covered him
over with a white bedsheet. A pair of wrap-around sunglasses cut the
intensely white glare.
"What now?" Thor said. "Those suits. You going to wear them?"
"No way," Bruce said. "One look at those and the dumbest cop would
know where we got them."
"They're not easy to get out of," Alex said.
"They are if we cut you out." Thor had a huge knife in his hand.
Alex felt a moment of panic. His suit was not replaceable. Nor was
Gordon's. When the suits were gone they weren't space pilots any more.
And so what? You can't go to space without a spaceship. We're not
going back, not now, not ever, so we don't need pressure suits.
"All right. Be careful with Gordon-тАФ"
"We will," Doc said. "You worry about the gear. What are we taking,
what do we leave?"
 They wrapped them in blankets. Sherrine and Thor had to carry him to
the sled. He couldn't walk, and could barely stand. Gordon was still out.
They carried him over as well. Sherrine settled him onto the sled and put
on more blankets, then a white sheet. "Should I?" she asked.
"Should you what?"
"Like the way the 'danes run things."
Alex tried to shrug under the blankets. "It's not my world; but they did
try to shoot me down."
Mike Glider-тАФhe called himself "Mycroft"-тАФloomed over him. "They
did more than try, GabeтАФboy," he said. "They did it."
"That they did." If I'd turned back, after the first missile-тАФ But damn all, we
needed the nitrogen. "My name's Alex, not 'Gabe.' " Talking wasn't easy. The
air was cold, horribly cold.
The fat man spread his arms out. "Code names. You're Gabriel; the kid
is Raphael. Two angels. Get it?" He took his place on the sledge runners.
Alex wondered how any human being could become as fat as Mike.
Perhaps it was an adaptation to the ice age. Heat loss was proportional to
surface area; and the sphere had the lowest surface area to volume ratio of
any solid.
"Saint Michael was an angel, too," he pointed out.
Mike brightened. "Hey, that's right. Do you think I could go up with
you guys when they come to get you?"
Alex didn't say anything. MacLeod's First Rule of Wilderness Survival: