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

goal of self-destruction was to kill him—or to get him killed, at any rate.

Was that related to what had happened in Teyzha? Had the computer intentionally fouled things up and
forced his flight in hopes that he'd get killed? Its programming forbade it from taking any direct action
against him as long as he remained loyal, but it just might be subtle enough to try indirect action. \
That might be why it wanted to parachute him into Teyzha; it might be aware that he stood a good
chance of getting killed. Its orders did not allow for the passage of time, but it might know that humans
could lose skills through atrophy, unlike computers; it could be using that as a loophole.

Then again, maybe it simply arrived at that as the best military option, in accordance with the available
data.

Well, whatever the truth, he'd just have to be more careful from now on. He started walking again,
mulling the situation over. For the first time in years, he began seriously considering schemes to detach
himself from the computer and remove the thermite and the override from his skull; the discovery of the
computer's death wish had seriously jarred his longstanding acceptance of his unhappy situation.

Approximately three hours later, as Slant was settling to the ground for a brief rest and wishing he had
something to eat, the computer informed him, "Ongoing gravitational anomaly approaching cyborg unit
from northeast, at an altitude of approximately twenty meters and ground speed of approximately two
meters per second; distance from cyborg unit approximately one kilometer."

"More pursuit from Teyzha?"

"Information insufficient."

Slant sighed and rose to his feet unconcernedly; then the computer's exact words registered, and he
asked, "Damn, did you say altitude? You mean it's flying?"

"Affirmative."

"Damn!" he said aloud.

Slant considered taking cover but decided against it; it had done no good previously. He also considered
attempting to outrace whatever was pursuing him, but that, too, he rejected; the pursuit was traveling at a
good speed, in clear air while he would have to dodge trees and underbrush, and there was no reason to
assume that its current pace—which he could probably better—was its top speed, or that it was subject
to normal fatigue. Instead he simply unslung his gun and stood waiting, watching the treetops in the
direction he had just come from.

A few moments later he caught a glimpse of something gliding above the treetops and moving directly
toward him. He checked the gun. It was ready, the clip still almost full; his first burst hadn't used more
than half a dozen rounds.

The flying object was closing; even through the treetops he could see that it was apparently a man,
moving through the air with no visible means of support. He began to wonder if wizards really existed on
this strange planet.

The man, if it was a man, was slowing; he was still about twenty meters off horizontally, as well as twenty
meters above the ground.