"Jack McKinney - Sentinels 01 - Devils Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

"I just don't know whether we're ready for this," Rick was saying. He had turned from the viewport and
was three strides toward the center of the room. "There are so many variables, so many things that could
go wrong now."

Max followed him, a grin beneath the sympathetic look he had adopted. "Come on, what could go
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wrong?"

Rick whirled on him. "Maybe I'm just not ready, Max!"

Rick's voice cracked on the word and Max couldn't suppress a short laugh. "Ready? It's been six years,
Rick. How much more ready can you expect to be?"

"Guess I'm not as good up against the unknowns anymore." Rick shrugged, lowering his gaze. "I mean,
we've got something good going already. So why jeopardize it, why tamper with it?"

Max took his friend by the shoulders and gave him an affectionate shake. "Look, you and Lisa love each
other, so quit worrying. Everything's going to turn out fine. Besides, everybody's excited about the
wedding. And what are you going to do, walk out on ten thousand guests?"

Rick felt the wisdom of it sink in, and smiled, self-mockingly.

They had both aged well, the rigors of life on- and off-world notwithstanding; both had turned
twenty-nine in March and had at least a few good years left in them. Rick stood taller and straighter now
than he had during the war, and that combined with some added weight gave him a stronger, more
capable look. This was enhanced by the cut of the Expeditionary Force's high-collared uniform and torso
harness, a crisscross, tailed, and flare-shouldered affair of black leather worn over tight-fitting trousers.
He still wore his black hair stylishly long, though-a fashion the Veritech flyboys of the Robotech Defense
Force had been largely responsible for. Max, too, had left behind the innocent look that had been
something of a trademark. While Rick, Dr. Lang, and Lisa Hayes had devoted themselves to the SDF-3
project, Max had been busy distinguishing himself in the Southlands, especially during the Malcontent
Uprisings of 2015-18. He still favored the blue hair tint he had affected during the war, likewise oversize
aviator glasses to contacts or corrective microsurgery. Less than perfect vision had never handicapped
his flying skills, in any case.

Rick was glancing back at the SDF-3 now. "And everybody gets to ride in the limo." He smirked.

Fabricated from the hull and power drives of Breetai's dreadnought and the salvaged remains from the
SDFs 1 and 2, the ship was itself a wedding of sorts. Pursuant to Lang and Exedore's requests, it was
more Zentraedi than Terran in design: a nontransformable deepspace leviathan, bristling with antennae
and blistered across its crimson surface with scanner ports and laser-array gun turrets.

"We'll make sure you two get the backseat," Max said. "For at least a couple of hours, anyway."

Rick laughed from across the room; Max joined him at the external viewport, Earth's incomparable