"Steve Perry - Aliens 01 - Earth Hive" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Stephens stared at the hard black plastic boxes.
“Who in the hell authorized plasma weapons?”
“Sir, I don’t know, sir. Sergeant Wilks ordered us to load them, sir. That’s all I know, sir.”
“As you were.”

Stephens took the lift to CARG-OP. He saw Wilks directing a trio of cargo bots. “Wilks!”
“Sir.”
“Where did you get authorization to requisition plasma weapons?”
“I was ordered to supply the ground troops with appropriate weaponry, sir.”
“And you thought blasters were appropriate? We aren’t going to war here, Sergeant. We are
supposed to collect specimens, not pieces.”
“My experience—” Wilks began.
“—has distorted your mind,” Stephens finished. “You’ve taken it upon yourself to provide
grossly destructive weaponry when standard-issue carbines will do. That’s what you used, wasn’t it?
And according to your own testimony a 10mm AP would stop one of these things just fine.”
 Rage flared in Wilks. “First time you face off with these “things’ you’ll wish you had something
better. Sir.”
“GENstaff wants you along, Wilks, so you’re along. But I won’t jeopardize my mission by
splattering potential specimens all over the countryside with weaponry designed to stop tanks. Have
those blasters removed from the ship, mister. Is that clear?”
Wilks’s voice was ice and steel. “Perfectly clear, Colonel.”

The two electroball players darted back and forth inside the hexagonal, walled court, smashing
the ball with charged paddles. The fist-sized orb rocketed into multicushioned patterns—three walls
were the minimum allowed for a valid point—and came back at the players at over 120 kilometers
an hour.
The player on the left executed a perfect six-wall attack. The player on the right was a half
second slow in his response and the electroball smashed into his chest hard enough to knock him
from his feet.
“Gotcha!”
The hit player came to his feet. “Your point.”
“Ready?”
“Go ahead. Serve.”
The player on the right smiled. “In a moment. Any news of the merger proposal with Climate
Systems?”
Lefty shrugged. “I thought I told you. Our op Massey convinced them to go for it.”
The player on the right laughed. “Made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, eh?”
“Well. You don’t know Massey, but yeah, something like that. Serve.”

The two men sat hunched over a holographic table, fingers on the glove pad controls of the
electroball game. Inside a clear hexagonal field the miniature players sweated as they darted back
and forth, while their operators wore custom and expensive silk business suits and looked
considerably fresher. They were well groomed, with ninety-credit hairstyles and precious gem collar
studs. They looked very much like corporation vice presidents, which they were.
The tiny ball rocketed off four walls and went past the receiving player.
“Good shot,” the man in the vivid green silks said. He wore a ruby the size of his thumb tip at
his throat, the red contrasting nicely with the green.
“Yep, almost gave me a decent match,” the one in the red silks said. His ornamental throat stud
was of diamond, twice the size of his companion’s ruby, and it glittered against the red. He was the
senior VP of the two.