"George R. R. Martin - Manna From Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Why do you think the wing is closing on you?” Ober said.
“As a gesture of affectionate welcome, I had hoped,” Tuf said. “As a friendly escort bearing kudos,
salutations, and gift baskets of plump, fresh, spiced mushrooms. I see that this assumption was
unfounded.”
“This is your third and final warning, Tuf. We’ll be in range in less than four standard minutes. Surrender
now or be destroyed.”
“Sir,” said Tuf, “before you make a grievous error, please consult with your superiors. I am certain there
has been a lamentable communications error.”
“You have been tried in absentia and found guilty of being a criminal, a heretic, and an enemy of the
people of S’uthlam.”
“I have been grossly misperceived,” Tuf protested.
“You escaped the flotilla ten years ago, Tuf. Don’t think to do it again. S’uthlamese technology does not
stand still. Our new weaponry will shred those obsolete defensive shields of yours, I promise you that.
Our top historians have researched that ponderous EEC derelict of yours. I supervised the simulations
myself. Your welcome is all prepared.”
“I have no wish to seem ungracious, but it was unnecessary to go to such lengths,” said Tuf. He glanced
at the banks of telescreens that lined the consoles along both sides of the long, narrow room, and studied
the phalanx of S’uthlamese warships rapidly closing upon the Ark. “If this unprovoked hostility has its
root in my outstanding debt to the Port of S’uthlam, rest assured that I am prepared to render payment in
full immediately.”
“Two minutes,” said Wald Ober.
“Furthermore, if S’uthlam is in need of additional ecological engineering, I find myself suddenly inclined to
offer you my services at a much reduced price.”
“We’ve had enough of your solutions. One minute.”
“It would seem I am left with but a single viable option,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Then you surrender?” the commander said suspiciously.
“I think not,” said Haviland Tuf. He reached out, brushed long fingers across a series of holographic
keys, and raised the Ark’s ancient defensive screens.
Wald Ober’s face was hidden, but he managed to get a sneer into his voice. “Fourth generation imperial
screens, triple redundancy, frequency overlapping, all shield phasing coordinated by your ship’s
computers. Duralloy plate armor on your hull. I told you we’d done our research.”
“Your hunger for knowledge is to be commended,” Tuf said.
“The next sarcasm you mouth may be your last, trader, so you had better take care to make it a good
one. The point is, we know exactly what you’ve got, and we know to the fourteenth decimal how much
damage an EEC seedship’s defenses can absorb. We’re prepared to give you more than you can
handle.” He turned his head. “Prepare to commence fire,” he snapped at unseen subordinates. When
the dark helmeted face swiveled back toward Tuf, Ober added, “We want the Ark and you can’t stop
us from taking it. Thirty seconds.”
“I beg to differ,” said Tuf calmly.
“They’ll fire at my command,” Ober said. “If you insist, I’ll count down the final seconds of your life.
Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen...”
“Seldom have I heard such vigorous counting,” said Tuf. “Please do not lose track on account of my
distressing news.”
“...Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.”
Tuf folded his hands atop his stomach.
“Eleven. Ten. Nine.” Ober looked uneasily to one side, then back at the screen.
“Nine,” announced Tuf. “A fine number. It is customarily followed by eight, thence seven.”
“Six,” Ober said. He hesitated. “Five.”
Tuf waited silently.