"L. E. Modesitt - Spec-Ops" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

Somewhere, something nagged at him, telling him to wake up ... but he could
sleep in, couldn't he? Sunday morning, wasn't it?

Tech deJahn . . . trigger recovery sequence . . . Recovery sequence . . .

Recovery sequence? His thoughts were sluggish. He had to do something ...
didn't he? Recovery sequence? A chill ran up his spine. Recovery one! Recovery
one!

Link one... link two ...

After a moment, or several, deJahn could feel the barriers dropping. Persona
segmentation was frightening--but it had saved more than a few spec-ops techs
from biobacklash syndrome ... or worse.

He blinked. He still couldn't see. Vision was usually late to return, but he
didn't like being in the dark.

Interrogative status?

Reintegration seventy-one percent complete.

What was seventy-one percent of a tech? He wanted to laugh. He forced his
teeth together.

The blackness began to evaporate, and holes appeared in it. One hole showed
the recovery medtech looking from the porta-console to deJahn and back again.
Another hole showed the dark greenish gray bulkhead of the spec-ops pod.

After a moment, deJahn blinked, then coughed. "Think I'm back."

"He's green." The medtech's voice was bored, almost disappointed. He
stood, nodded, and replaced the porta-console in its case before leaving the pod.

"Just sit there for a while," ordered the major.

DeJahn glanced around the pod. All the other sensie-stations were empty. He
supposed that was good.

Then the shudders began.

It took fifteen minutes before deJahn was ready to stand. He must have been
the last. Or the only idiot who hadn't disengaged fast enough.

He looked at the major. The officer's cold green eyes showed nothing.

"Thought you said these chimbats were new. They were ready for them."

"They were new. Some of them got through. About half the station's