"Jack Vance - Tschai 1 - City of the Chasch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

"Here we go again," said Reith. "Well, it's up to the airfoils now. Better get into ejection
harness." He swung out the sideflaps, extended the elevators and rudder and the boat hissed down
at a slant. He asked, "How does the atmosphere check out?"

Waunder read the various indices of the analyzer. "Breathable. Close to Earth normal."

"That's one small favor."

Looking through scanscopes, they could now observe detail. Below spread a wide plain or a steppe,
marked here and there with low relief and vegetation. "No sign of civilization," said Waunder.
"Not below, at any rate. Maybe up there, by the horizon-those gray spots ..."

"If we can land the boat, if no one disturbs us while we rebuild the control system, we'll be in
good shape ... But these airfoils aren't intended for a fast landing in the rough. We'd better try
to stall her down and eject at the last instant."

"Right," said Waunder. He pointed. "That looks like a forest-vegetation of some sort. The ideal
spot for a crash."

"Down we go."

The boat slanted down; the landscape expanded. The fronds of a dank black forest reached into the
air ahead of them.

"On the count of three: eject," said Reith. He pulled the boat up into a stall, braking its
motion. "One-two-three. Eject!"

The ejection ports opened; the seats thrust; out into the air snapped Reith. But where was
Waunder? His harness had fouled, or the seat had failed to eject properly; and he dangled
helplessly outside the boat. Reith's parachute opened, swung him up pendulum-wise. On the way down
he struck a glossy black limb of a tree. The blow dazed him; he swung at the end of his parachute
shrouds. The boat careened through the trees, plowed into a bog, Paul Waunder hung motionless in
his harness.

There was silence except for the creaking of hot metal, a faint hiss from somewhere under the
boat.

Reith stirred, kicked feebly. The motion sent pain tearing through his shoulders and chest; he
desisted and hung limp.

The ground was fifty feet below. The sunlight, as he had noted before, seemed rather more dim and
yellow than the sunlight of Earth, and the shadows held an amber overtone. The air was aromatic
with the scent of unfamiliar resins and oils; he was caught in a tree with glossy black limbs and
brittle black foliage which made a rattling sound when he moved. He could look along the broken
swath to the bog, where the boat sat almost on an even keel, Waunder hanging head-down from the
ejection hatch, his face only inches from the muck. If the boat should settle, he would smother-if
he was still alive even now. Reith struggled frantically to untangle himself from his harness. The
pain made him dizzy and sick; there was no strength in his hands, and when he raised his arms
there were clicking sounds in his shoulders. He was helpless to free himself, let alone assist
Waunder. Was he dead? Reith could not be sure. Waunder, he thought, had twitched feebly.