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

Gus Thorsen was now approaching his 38th birthday.


"Gus! You heard the latest on the colony wars?" his trainer asked,
speaking through the screen on the pugilist robot's faceplate.
Gus aimed his punches at the screen, watching the trainer's face
projected on it, and kept dancing around the robot with his guard down -
the classic technique of his late idol, Muhammad Ali.
"What?" he asked, never standing still.
"The news, kiddo! The Kansler made Colonel Clarke volunteer to become a
cyborg super-soldier - the first of a new breed of fighting men. So I
was thinking..."
The trainer ceased talking, as he directed the pugilist robot to duck a
rapid-fire series of jabs from Gus - probably the fastest boxer on the
planet, though that didn't mean much. In the space of two seconds, one
of his punches managed to hit the robot on its plastic chin. The counter
on its forehead went up from 29 to 30, and rated the hit a "K.O.".
"I was thinking, maybe that's the future of fighting too. People aren't
watching old-style fighting anymore, and they're getting bored with
mutilation contests. With cyborgs, we could draw crowds using faster and
more powerful action. As long as there's a human brain inside the body
that's taking the impact, the interest will remain."
"None of my business," Gus gasped; he had been sparring for hours on
end, and his feet were not as fast as two hours ago.
"It kinda is, actually... I'm thinking of moving on to training
cybernetically enhanced fighters, instead of this traditional stuff. "
"Uh-huh..."
"I'm selling the gym."
"What!?"
Astonished, Gus stopped dancing about for a full second - long enough
for his remote-controlled pugilist to score a hard right hook on his
jaw. Gus tumbled onto the floor, dazed by the punch. The trainer shut
down the pugilist and climbed up into the ring with his first-aid kit.
As he applied instant remedies for the head, brain and face injuries Gus
had received, he seemed more concerned than usual - not about Gus's
health, but about his sullen expression.
"Gus, kiddo, don't give me that look. You knew it was gonna happen one
day. Real estate prices just keep going up! This gym would just about
break even, if we moved it to one of those sea platforms or the new
mountain plateaus, but the air and sea conditions are not right for
traditional boxing."
Gus spat out his bloodied dental protectors and replied: "Then move to
another planet. I'd go to Mars or Venus, as long as I can stay in the
ring."
"With the lower gravity? You're not trained for that, you'd lose your


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