"Pournelle, Jerry - Birth Of Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

"Yeah. Well, let's talk to them. Worse comes to worse, we'll offer a trade." I drank the coffee Zeke had given me, then went over and sat down in front of the radio. The trailer was big and cozy. Zeke used it as a mobile prospecting camp.
"One Dog Niner, are you listening? Over."
"Yeah, we're listening. You bastards better let us go! There'll be two battalions of marines with tanks out here by morning!"
"This won't last until morning," I said. "You've got troubles, fellows. Now let me hear Sarge talking."
"Why?"
"Because any time I ask to hear him and I don't. I'm going to assume he's dead, and there won't be any reason why we shouldn't be throwing dynamite. Clear? We've got more power than you have. You can't run away from us, so don't waste batteries. Just put Sarge on."
There was a pause. Then, "Hey kid. You're doin' okay."
"You all right, Sarge?"
"Sure. Look, don't let 'em talk you into nothing, they're -"
"That's enough," the policeman said. "He's all right."
"Good. You keep him that way. I'll be back in a bit. Out." I switched off the transmitter.
"The trouble is," I said, "they think they can wait for sunlight and just take off. With that machine gun they know they can put any tractor we've got out of action. And there probably will be reinforcements before noon. We need a way to convince them we can disable them without hurting Sarge -"
We thought for a moment. Then I had an idea. "John, you said you can hit them with dynamite. Can you hit them with paint?"
"Paint?"
"Yeah. In a plastic bag. If we splatter paint on their windscreen and solar cells, where are they going in the morning?"
"Be damned," Zeke said. "Ezra, get on the photophone and tell your mother we need some paint down here. Paint and some bags." He turned back to me. "She won't like that. Damn bags are expensive and we can't make 'em."
"It's for a good cause. Maybe we won't need many."
"I'll throw," John said. "If I can't talk, I ought to be of some use."

It took half an hour to organize, and I let the cops stew for another half hour. We were in no real hurry. By now it would be getting cold in their tractor, even with the heaters going. Then John moved into position.
"Okay, ready," he said.
We had two radios, so we could keep John on one and use the other to talk to the cops. I called them.
"Yeah?"
"Let me hear Sarge."
"Still okay, kid."
"Good," I said. "Now. What's your name, whichever of you is in charge?"
"What's that to you?"
"I don't really care, but I ought to call you something -"
"Call him Stinky," Sarge said in the background.
"Shut up, Wechsung. My name is Larkin."
"All right, Larkin, watch close now." I switched to the other radio. "Let her fly!"
There was nothing for a moment. Then John's voice came through. "Right on target! Hit the windscreen."
"Beautiful." I called Larkin again. "Get the message? How far will you get in the morning with the solar panels covered with black paint? Oh, and don't try moving the tractor. You'll waste power you're going to need before the night's over, and there's no place you can go that we can't get upwind of you."
"He's shooting hell out of the rocks," John reported. "I wonder what he thinks he can hit?"
"Can you whap him again?"
"Sure. Here goes."
I called again. "Well, Larkin? How much air have you got? Think your relief can get through the Gap before you run out? Ready to give up, or should we paint the whole tractor for you?"
"Damn you! It's Pittson, isn't it? You're in trouble, Pittson. Let us go and we can straighten it out. Nobody's been hurt yet -"
I laughed at him.
He was off for five minutes. We waited. Then he came on. "Okay. You win. We'll turn Wechsung loose in the morning, if you hold off the paint until then -"
"Crap. You're no Marsman. Our word's good. Yours isn't," I said.
"Attaboy!" Sarge shouted in the background.
"Shut up, Wechsung. Pittson, if we let him go, will you leave us alone? Nobody around in the morning?"
"What about it, Sarge?" I asked.
"Take 'em up on it."
"Roger."
Appleby brought Sarge into the trailer a few minutes later. We got his helmet off. "You okay?" I asked.
"Few bruises. Nothing to worry about. Damn good to have friends. Thanks."
"Sure."
"Sandwiches and coffee here," Zeke said.