"A. R. Yngve - Argus project" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yngve A. R)

Gus peeked out from the concrete doorway where he had taken shelter,
and saw the smoking wreckage but no people - and no news pods or robot
cameras came flying, which struck him as weird. He shrugged off his
misgivings and ran the twenty feet to the wreckage.
"Hello! Is anyone alive in there?" Through one of the cracked, wide
porthole panels, he could discern movements inside; he stepped up on the
toppled solar panels and searched for the emergency door, still shouting
at the passengers inside. "Don't panic! Help is on the way... I
think..."


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Before he could reach one of the nearest doors, it burst open from
inside the wreck. A uniformed man, about his own height, climbed down
from the opening with a gun in his hand. Gus backed away; at the sound
of his feet, the man spun and aimed his gun at Gus's chest.
"Halt!" the officer croaked.
Gus raised his hands over his head, staring at the other man's face.
The label on his uniform read "CLARKE" - but his face, height, and age
seemed exactly similar to Gus. Except Clarke's nose wasn't broken. The
extensive safety mechanisms in his aircraft seat had rendered him
practically unharmed in the crash; traces of chemical foam clung to his
uniform. Colonel Clarke froze; also he spotted the likeness. The spell
lasted only a few seconds. He thought: Has to be another fad. Facial
makeovers in the likeness of famous people are so old hat. I haven't
licensed my face. Gotta get my lawyer on it. Someone owes me royalties.
"Get me a car," he growled into the small headset that hung from his
cap. "Hello? Hello? Damn, I just get static." He still kept the gun
aimed at Gus. "The Jovian rebels. A murder plot against me. You! Get me
to a car-pod. Now!"
Gus swallowed and replied rapidly: "Don't shoot. Any other survivors?
The pilot?"
"Shut up and show the way," Clarke ordered, making a movement with his
head to indicate directions.
Still holding his hands up in the air, wondering what the hell was
going on, Gus skipped down from the wreck and began to walk toward the
nearest parked rental car. His dog, growling and snarling, came running
up toward them.
"No, Giddog! Stay put! Please don't shoot my..."
The dog refused to listen; Gus knew it might put itself at risk to
protect him. Then, as he faced away from Clarke and the wreckage, a
sharp whistling noise came from above - then another noise, and
something dark hit Gus from all sides, faster than he could possibly
dodge it. A loud explosion shook the very air around him, very close,
and Gus felt the air being squeezed out of his lungs. He blacked out.
Giddog? Giddog? Giddog?

Darkness.