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

navy blue. Wouldn't want to get any lower. Gordon glanced out the
windscreen and said, "Shouldn't we be seeing land by now?"
Alex shook his head, realized Gordon wasn't looking at him and
answered. "No, the cloud-deck off the pole . . ." He stopped. The white
below them wasn't the cloud shroud any more. They must have gone past
the southern edge or hit a hole in it. White on white. Cloud or ice. If you
didn't actually look you, might not notice. "Damn, damn. The ice is still
growing."
Gordon didn't say anything. Alex watched him a moment longer then
turned his attention to the gauges. Gordon was nineteen. There had always
been an Ice Age, so it did not surprise him that the glaciers had crept
farther south. Alex thought he remembered a different world-тАФgreen, not
white-тАФbefore his parents brought him upstairs. He wasn't sure how much
of it was genuine childhood memories and how much was movies or
photographs in books. The habitats had a fair number of books on tape,
brought up when they still got along with the Downers.
The green hills of earth, he thought. Now the glaciers-тАФnot rivers of ice,
but vast oceans of ice-тАФwere spreading south at tens of miles a year.
Hundreds of miles in some places. In the dictionary, "glacial" meant slow;
Alex looked again through the cockpit windscreen and sighed.
"We could have stopped it," he said abruptly.
"Eh?" Gordon gave him a puzzled glance.
"The Ice Age. Big orbiting solar mirrors. More microwave power
stations. Sunlight is free. We could have beamed down enough power to
stop the ice. Look what one little SUNSAT has done for Winnipeg."
Gordon studied the frozen planet outside. He shook his head. "Ya nye
ponim├бl," he admitted. "I faked the examiners, but I never did get it. The
what-did-they-call-it, polar ice cap? It stayed put for thousands of years.
Then, of a sudden it reaches out like vast white amoeba."
All of a sudden, Alex's earphones warbled. He touched a hand to his
ear. "Piranha here."
"Alex!" It was Mary Hopkins's voice. She was sitting mission control for
this dip. Alex wondered if he should be flattered . . . And if Lonny was
there with her. "We've got a bogey rising," said Mary. "Looks like he's
vectoring in on you."
So, they don't shoot missiles out of Greenland? Find another line of
work, AlexтАФboy; you'll never make it as a soothsayer. "Roger, Big
Momma." He spun to Gordon. "Taking over," he barked. "Close the scoop.
Seal her up. Countermeasures!"
"Da!" He said something else, too rapid to follow.
"English, damn your eyes!"
"Oh. Yeah. Roger. Scoops closed."
Piranha felt better. Under control. "Close your faceplate." Alex pulled his
own shut and sealed it.
"Alex, I have something." Gordon's voice sounded tinny over the radio,
or maybe a wee bit stressed. "Aft and to the left and below," he said.
Seven o'clock low.
"Constant bearing and closing."
tear off. Just small, fat fins and a big, broad, flat belly to be melted,
evaporated or pierced. Alex bit his lip. Don't think about that. Concentrate