"Allen, Roger MacBride - Chronicles of Solace 3 - Shores of Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen Roger Macbride)

Koffield shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s to ask us our opinion of his research—and his plans, whatever those turn out to be. He brought us here so he could ask us if we think he’s crazy.”

“What?”

“Think about it—he’s in worse shape to judge than we are. We just got through agreeing that he’s been cut off from human society for a long, long time—and been a power answerable to no one but himself for even longer. It’s enough to turn anyone’s head around. Ifwe can see that, so can he.”

“So he needs us around just to be sure he hasn’t gone around the bend?”

“Among other reasons,” Koffield said. “Which reminds me, we had another reason for coming down here. I’d still like to get this bomb removed.”

Marquez looked startled. “I’d almost forgotten about it. Where the hell is it?”

“Right where Sparten left it,” Koffield said. “Or rather, whereI put it back after I removed it to disarm it.” He knelt and pointed to a small blue cylinder, about ten centimeters long and three wide, taped to one of the propellant surge tanks.

Marquez let out a low whistle. “It’s not big, but it wouldn’t have to be, right there. Set that off, and you’d blow all the propellant in that tank. Might or might split the hull, but at the very least it’d make sure neither set of engines ever fired again. Ah—youdid disarm it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Koffield said. “But then I put it back in place, just in case Sparten decided to check on it.” Moving very slowly and carefully, he reached down and peeled back the two thin strips of very ordinary adhesive tape that held it to the tank. He pulled the bomb away, and handed it up to Marquez.

“It’s safe now, right?” Marquez asked, feeling nervous holding even a small amount of high explosive in his hands.

“It’s a bomb,” Koffield said calmly. “It’s safe enough if you’re careful, but it won’t everreally be safe, until we blow it up out where it won’t hurt anyone.”

“Do you think he’ll let us out on the surface to do that?” Marquez asked. He had imagined that they’d all be forced to stay underground for good.

“Why not? There’s no breathable air. There’s barely any atmospheric oxygen left. Besides, it’s cold enough that all the carbon dioxide’s frozen out and fallen like snow,” Koffield said. “It’s a dead world. He’s got the only light and heat, perhaps for light-years around. Where could we go?”

“Light-years?” Marquez suddenly realized he was in the very rare position of knowing something Koffield did not. “It’s not quitethat far to light and heat. Try about seven hundred kilometers south,” he said triumphantly.

“What?A settlement?”

Marquez had actually managed to surprise Koffield. That was a most rare accomplishment. “Bunch of diehard types,” Marquez said, quite pleased with himself. “Probably buried so deep and insulated so well our scans missed their base on the way in. DeSilvo let it slip.”

“Unless he let it slip on purpose,” Koffield said.

Koffield stood up and held out his hand for the bomb. Marquez handed the deadly little thing back to him. Koffield carefully took it and twisted one end of it until the end cap popped free. He slipped the cap into one pocket of his trousers and tucked the rest of the cylinder into the breast pocket of his shirt. “That should make it just a bit less unsafe, anyway. But, getting back to this settlement—what more did he say?”

“Not much at all. I was at the viewport with him this morning, watching the bulldozers and earthmovers taking the outside of this place apart. I said something like it was a mighty cold world out there. And he said, ‘Not all of it is quite so cold as you think.’ I asked what he meant. He hesitated, like he’d said too much. Then he pointed sort of to one side of the viewport, off toward the south, and said, ‘Why not tell you? That way, about seven hundred kilometers. They call it Last Chance Canyon. But I think you’ll find the accommodations more comfortable here.’ After that, he shut up.”

Koffield leaned his back against a convenient bulkhead, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and let out a weary sigh. “Wonderful. He’s been playing games with us so long, so why not play same more? Was he lying or telling the truth? Was what he said spontaneous or planned? Is it important or not?Are we supposed to act on it—or not? All that just for starters.”

Marquez shook his head. “All I know for sure is we don’t know anything for sure. But Ithink it was just a bit of trivia to him.”

“So assuming the place is even there, you have no idea how many people, what they’re doing there, if they know about this place—or about us?”

“I’ve told you all I know,” Marquez replied. “I don’t know if they could help us.”

“Help us do what?” Koffield asked.

“Escape, obviously,” Marquez replied.