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

but not so close as to disturb the Tuch-Dahs. SuperChimps swarmed down the
ground lines and anchored the airship to the hilltop. Helio and his gunmen
trooped down the control-car gangway, sporting rifles tucked under their arms,
fanning out as they approached the yurts.

"Get ready to run." Defoe aimed the recorder at the airship. "I'm going to
create a diversion."

Lila nodded gamely. Ellenor remained unconvinced. "What sort of a diversion?"

"Fire and panic." Defoe told his navmatrix to set the recorder on playback,
projecting a continuously expanding loop using the most recent image i n memory.
"No matter what you see, run straight for the Joie de Vivre, and up that
gangway. Got it?" Both women nodded. "Then go," he hissed, triggering the
recorder.

They broke cover as a red glow appeared on the hull of the airship --the image
of the yurt fire magnified by the recorder -- growing into a terrible circle of
fire. SuperChimps hooted in terror, scattering away from the ship. In seconds
the image covered half the hull, looking for all the world like a trillion cubic
centimeters of hydrogen bursting into flame. The control-car crew dived out the
gondola windows.

Defoe topped the hill. Shoving Ellenor and Lila toward the gangway, he began
releasing ground lines. Lightened by the loss of men and chimps, the airship
strained at her anchors, heaving about above hi m like a whale in labor.

Someone yelled stop. Without bothering to answer, Defoe leaped on the last line,
pulling the anchor pin, letting the line hoist him up and away. The airship tore
off downwind, wallowing drunkenly, her control gondola empty. Dangling cables
rattled through the stand of acacias.

Seeing he could not clear the trees, Defoe had his navmatrix send a frantic call
to the Joie's emergency system, releasing the landing ballast. Tons of water
cascaded past. The ship shot upward, out of Helio's range and reach.

His navmatrix ticked off altitude increases. 1000, 2000, 3000 meters. Savanna
spun below him. Time he hauled himself aboard. Holding on with his left hand,
Defoe reached up with his right, grasping the taut line. Getting a good grip, he
let go with his left.

He fell, steel line sliding through his fingers. His right hand would not hold.
Making a frantic grab with his left, he managed to catch the line.

Dangling left-handed, Defoe realized his right arm was useless. It would no
longer support him. The medikit strapped to his leg had masked his pain, and the
damage done by the Thal. Betraying him into trying too much.

Swinging silently, several kilometers in the air, beneath a bucking airship, he
pondered his next move. Unable to climb one-handed, Defoe kicked at the end of