"Robertson, R Garcia - Gone To Glory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson R Garcia Y)

"First -- no crash. That semi-rigid landed intact, then burned on the ground.
Second, what sort of shot is Lila?"

"I taught her myself." There was pride in her voice and a recoilless pistol on
her hip.

"So I supposed." He remembered how cool and unflinching Lila had looked -- a lot
like her mother. "But there was no blood on the grass. It is hard to believe
every shot was a miss."

Ellenor nodded grimly.

Defoe got up, handed back the recorder, and dusted fine grains off his lap. The
soil felt thin and silty. "Can you ride bareback?" Ellenor was not his first
choice as a traveling companion, or even his fiftieth, but that was Glory for
you.

"I was doing it before you were born." She fixed up a loop bridle, selected a
mount, and they set off.

The prairie thinned further. Sandy patches showed between tufts of shriveled
grass. More buzzards appeared, over more dead bison. More than even hyenas could
eat. Defoe reined in, asking "What do you make of this?"

Ellenor dismissed the apocalyptic scene. "A local die-off. We saw it from orbit.
Lila's team was investigating."

Defoe shook his head. "I've been seeing signs of major drought ever since
crossing the Azur. And real overgrazing as well. Hello's horses were frantic to
cross the fenceline."

Ellenor sniffed. "Is that a pilot's opinion, or are you a xenoecologist as
well?"

"You don't have to be a xenoecologist to know a dead buffalo. The water table is
falling. You can see the steppe salting up. Springbok and pronghorns are
filtering in from out of the wild, replacing the bison."

Ellenor denied the Azur was in any trouble. "The sea is stabilized."

"Stabilized?" He reminded her the planet was still terraforming. "Shouldn't the
Azur be growing?"

"A local shortfall," she insisted, shrugging off the buzzards and dead bison.
"Another wet season and this will all be forgotten."

It did not seem that local to Defoe. Kilometers north of the Azur he could still
smell salt on the breeze. Nor would the Tuch-Dah take a "local condition" so
calmly -- they had to live here. And they were not the types to forget and