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

inoperative." The eyes softened, into mere green glass. "Get some rest, Tech.
You're off schedule tomorrow. Check with med on Monday."

"Yes, sir." DeJahn took two slow steps to the pod exit station, pressed his
fingertips on the pad.

Cleared to depart. Status amber . . . off duty, pending medical. The exit
irised open.

DeJahn took a step into the passageway outside the pod. Each step was
deliberate. His balance felt off. Could be the beating his ears had taken.

His poopsuit stunk. Sweat and everything else. Biofeedback was hell on a
tech's personal system, no matter what the newsies said. Especially when your
vectors got blasted before you disengaged.

He needed a shower and something to eat. There were still holes in his vision.

****

II.
"What is the point of a weapon?"
 "To defeat someone, or to force them to accede to what the wielder wishes."

"What is defeat?"

"The surrender of a position, goods, territory, or even a point of view."

"Who determines defeat?"

"Either total destruction or surrender by the one who's in the weaker position
..."

****

III.
0340. DeJahn bolted up in the narrow bunk. Sleep like deep link cobwebbed
his thoughts. Sat there, unmoving. Two days off hadn't helped that much.

0345. He swung his feet onto the plastipress deck, knew he had to get
moving, get to the pod for duty rotation. Didn't want to be last. Might be scroaches,
or chimshrews. Bunk above was empty. Stennes had midwatch on screens.

DeJahn pulled on a clean poopsuit, knowing he'd need to drop off the soiled
ones below before his next duty. Chim-duty was hell on uniforms. Softboots
followed the poopsuit, and he fastened the bag with his linkcap to his waistband.
Closed the slider behind him and hurried along the dim passageway and up the
circular ramp, past electro-ops, and to the spec-ops pod.

0352. DeJahn's fingers stopped short of the pod access plate. Took a