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

have his brain fried. He lay back down, and a moment later the ship launched itself forward and upward.
He wondered how much of a mess the takeoff had made of the clearing and surrounding forest; perhaps
he should have piloted it himself.

It was a little late to think of that, though; he thought of something else instead. "You know, I was wrong;
this isn't exactly a preaviation culture after all. That person who found me in the woods was certainly
flying, using whatever this thing is that we're after."

"Affirmative."

"Coming in by parachute might not be a good idea: they probably have 'wizards' flying a nightly sky
patrol."

"There is no evidence of airborne enemy patrols."

"Maybe there aren't any aloft right now, but what if one comes along while I'm halfway down? It's pretty
hard to hide while dangling in midair, even with a steerable 'chute."

"Cyborg unit will be armed; airborne enemy patrols may be eliminated. There has been no evidence of
nocturnal airborne enemy patrols since planetfall."

"Oh." He could think of no further arguments, and although far from convinced, he wanted to reassure the
computer of his enthusiasm. "Okay. That's fine, then."

He lay back for a moment, eyes closed, but then rebelled against this familiar position; there was no need
for it He had a new planet to look at Unpleasant though his current situation was, there was no call to
return to his habitual shipboard boredom. He opened his eyes and reached behind him for the
direct-control cable. Plugging it into his neck, he called for belly-camera relay and watched as the deep
green forests slid by below him, receding as the ship gained altitude. Standard procedure for a parachute
drop was to approach from a very low orbit, he recalled, to dip down briefly, drop the 'chutist, and then
return to orbit; presumably the computer would be doing exactly that

"How long till drop?"

"Approximately ninety-four minutes."

That was probably two revolutions; he was sure the computer wouldn't use that high an orbit for what
was, after all, almost a ground operation from its point of view. "Why so long?"

"Standard procedure calls for initial pass to evaluate weather conditions and tactical situation."

That made sense, and incidentally added a new worry to his list; he hadn't thought about weather. It
hadn't been a concern during the years- in space, nor underground on Mars, and the weather had been
uniformly calm and beautiful since he landed. With any luck at all, he knew, it would stay that way, and
the computer would not be so reckless as to drop him into the middle of a storm should one arise—but
he still had visions of falling through rain clouds.

Well, he had time to worry about it and to try to think of some way to convince the computer there was a
better approach than parachuting him anywhere. He watched the land slip away as the ship's orbit took it
out past the coast and over the ocean.