"Roger Zelazny - The Doors of His Face The Lamps of His Mouth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

there was nothing living that I knew of, excepting a Sequoia, that came any
bigger than Ikky. That's part of it....

I jammed a couple of extra rolls into a paper bag and filled a thermos
with coffee. Excusing myself, I left the gallery and made my way to the
Slider berth. It was just the way I remembered it. I threw a few switches
and the shortwave hummed.

"That you, Carl?"

"That's right, Mike. Let me have some juice down here, you
double-crossing rat."

He thought it over, then I felt the hull vibrate as the generators cut
in. I poured my third cup of coffee and found a cigarette.

"So why am I a double-crossing rat this time?" came his voice again.

"You knew about the cameraman at Hangar Sixteen?"

"Yes."

"Then you're a double-crossing rat. The last thing I want is publicity.
'He who fouled up so often before is ready to try it, nobly, once more.' I
can read it now."

"You're wrong. The spotlight's only big enough for one, and she's
prettier than you."


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My next comment was cut off as I threw the elevator switch and the
elephant ears flapped above me. I rose, settling flush with the deck.
Retracting the lateral rail, I cut forward into the groove. Amidships, I
stopped at a juncture, dropped the lateral, and retracted the longitudinal
rail.

I slid starboard, midway between the Rooks, halted, and threw on the
coupler.

I hadn't spilled a drop of coffee.

"Show me pictures."

The screen glowed. I adjusted and got outlines of the bottom.

"Okay."