"Lawrence Watt-Evans - War Surplus 01 - The Cyborg And The Sorcerers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

directly away from the ship.

"A large concentration of anomalies representing enemy weapons research lies approximately one
hundred kilometers to the planetary northeast. This landing area was chosen for that reason. Movement
in that direction is indicated."

Slant made a slight noise of startlement; the computer's monotone mental voice seemed out of place now
that he was out of the ship. He stopped, took his bearings from the rising sun, and pointed off to his right
"That way?"

"Affirmative."

He shrugged, turned, and marched on, the pouch and knife slapping his thighs, the submachine gun
weighing on his shoulder.



Chapter Two
THE FOREST WAS ALMOST ENTIRELY PINE; SLANT NO longer remembered the differences
among the various species, but he amused himself by noting the many varieties he encountered. He
paused occasionally to study types he hadn't seen before, ignoring the computer's objection to such
delays. He found a few trees he suspected were not natural terrestrial species but that were similar
enough that he guessed them to be mutants or hybrids rather than anything native to this planet Given his
former government's liking for enhanced-radiation weapons of various sorts, this world must have been
largely a radioactive wasteland for a time; it was hardly surprising if a few viable mutations had arisen.

There was very little underbrush, due to the thick carpet of pine needles, and despite the seemingly
endless rolling hills walking was easy once he had left the tall grass and entered the shade of the forest He
found himself enjoying his stroll very much and began idly humming to himself after a while, only to be
hushed by a warning from the computer. It took this war game seriously; programming forbade anything
that might draw unwanted attention.

Golden sunlight filtered through the trees around him, lighting earth and branch and fallen needles in
several shades of brown and gray, and gradually wanning the air. By noon he was glad that he hadn't
found a shirt he liked in his supplies. The decision had been based on his lack of one primitive enough,
but the weather was hot enough that he would have removed it anyway. He kept the fur vest open and
loose, and wished he had worn shorts instead of the leather pants; he was perspiring freely, for the first
time in years, and it made him feel slimy and unclean. He was not used to such varying temperatures; the
air aboard ship was kept within a range of five degrees.

Noon had been quick in coming; he realized the day must be well under the twenty-four hours of Old
Earth's, the standard that he had almost always lived with, whether naturally on Old Earth, artificially in
the underground complex on Mars, or from habit aboard ship. Either that or his tune sense was further
off than he had thought; perhaps his habits had gradually shifted over the years. He asked the computer,
which informed him that the local day was in fact only slightly over twenty hours.

The sun was just past its zenith—which had been somewhat south of straight overhead, as he was well
up in the northern hemisphere and it was midway between the summer solstice and the autumnal
equinox—when he came across a road. It was reasonably broad and looked as if it might once have
been paved, but only a narrow path down the center showed signs of recent use.