"Viktor Koman - Captain Anger 1 - The Microbotic Menace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Koman Victor)

Fleming lit a cigarette. “Then I’d suggest cutting his arm off before it
hits his bloodstream.”
The woman looked at him in professional disgust. “I don’t think we have
to be that drastic.”
 “Oh, yeah?” The detective jerked his thumb toward the diner. “Did you
take a look in there?”
The paramedics shook their heads.
“I didn’t think so.” Fleming looked at their patient. “You want to tell
them what happened?”
Terror suddenly filled the huge man’s eyes. He turned toward the
woman. “I want you to cut it off. Right now. He touched me. Just like
that.” He slapped his hand against the male paramedic’s arm. “And then
he melted. Just melted.” He stared up at Fleming, imploring. “You gotta
tell them to.”
Fleming looked at the doubting faces, then shrugged. “I’d do it if I were
you.”
The female paramedic snorted. “Well, you’re not, lucky for this guy.”
“HazMat on the line,” Officer Baggerly shouted. “They’ll be here in
twenty minutes.”
Fleming looked from the worker to the diner to the TV news vans
pulling up.
“Twenty minutes,” he muttered.


Chapter Two

The Beauty, the Brute, and the Brain
Leila Weir sat at the computer terminal. Nearly six feet tall,
raven-haired with skin the color of fine ivory, and a figure—clad now in a
deep navy jump suit—that haunted men forever, her god looks caused a
plurality of the automotive damage claims in Southern California.
The screen she watched displayed a false-color image of a man. A riot of
carnelian, azure, umber, and violet hues enveloped the body. Around it,
loops and spirals of light spun in a crazy rhythm, alternating from red
through orange to yellow.
“No ill effects yet,” she noted in the recorder mounted at eye level. She
threw a set of switches. A humming sound pervaded the room, electrifying
it with an eerie, almost palpable energy. The image on the screen began to
throw off points of white light like a child’s sparkler.
 “Bozhe moi! Get me out of here!” a muffled voice shouted over the
comm set. “Suit is on fire!”
Weir threw a bank of switches, cutting all power to the system. The
humming cycled down to nothing. The colors around the figure on the
screen descended the spectral scale into darkness.
To her left, a hatchway slammed open with an ear-splitting hiss. Smoke
and steam belched outward like fumes from a mine explosion. With a
deep breath, the woman leapt from her console to the crimson cylinder on
the nearby wall. With practiced skill, she activated the fire extinguisher
and blasted her way into the chamber. The white cloud of carbon dioxide
and Halon mingled with the smoke and steam to create a dank, thick