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

When the first pass brought it back over Teyzha, the computer informed him that the weather was dear
and calm, that there was no sign of aerial surveillance, and that he had forty-five minutes to suit up and
arm himself.

At the end of the second revolution, as the ship decelerated and dipped out of orbit, he was waiting in the
airlock clad in a lightweight insulating pressure suit, black from head to toe, his black glider-chute packed
on his back. The submachine gun, reloaded, was slung across his shoulders, above his chute, and a snark
and a flashlight were clipped on his belt. A snug helmet and oxygen mask completed his outfit.

He had expected to be terrified when the outer door opened and he heard and felt the cold wind roaring
past; jumping from the wing of a starship fifteen kilometers up was not something he was confident he
could survive. Nonetheless, when the port slid aside and the computer signalled something shifted within
him, and he was completely calm, moving with easy self-assurance, as he stepped from the airlock and
let the wind rip him from the ship's wing. He had forgotten that he was not a normal man but a cyborg;
the computer was regulating his glands, preventing the physical effects of panic, and his conditioning had
brought to the fore the schizoid fragment of his psyche that had been trained in military operations of this
type, a personality that knew no fear, that thought no more of a parachute jump than of riding a horse or
fording a stream.

It was this fearless Slant that plummeted groundward, opening his 'chute at the most opportune moment
to take advantage of the wind patterns the computer had charted on its first pass, calculating how best to
maximize his chances of landing safely on target—on target meaning anywhere inside the city of Teyzha,
though the Council's palace was his theoretical ground zero.

Even had he been his normal self, there would have been little for him to fear after the initial plunge; the
night sky was indeed clear, the air calm, and there was no sign of airborne activity in the city below.
There was very little evidence of any activity at all; by local time it was approximately an hour past
midnight, and most of the population was doubtlessly long abed.

When he first looked down from freefall, with his ship still visible as a dwindling speck in the distance, it
had taken him several seconds to find Teyzha at all; the city was nothing but a dot, surrounded by a small
patch of paleness, colorless in the darkness, that was farmland, almost lost in the dark immensity of the
forest that covered the land in all directions. That dot was now swooping up at him as the wind carried
him toward it

Although the air rushing by and the speed with which the ground approached gave him a feeling of great
velocity— an accurate feeling—the fall seemed to take hours. He knew that it was actually only a few
minutes between leaving his ship and seeing the city jump up at him with frightening suddenness, but it felt
as if he had been hanging in space forever.

Then abruptly time was rushing by, and he had none to spare to admire the starlit scenery; he had to
devote his attention to steering his rectangular web of nylon, riding the air currents over the city wall and
into Teyzha.

As he passed over the parapet his 'chute caught an up-draft, and the few meters that separated his feet
from the battlements became a respectable distance again; he guessed that the stone buildings and
pavements must still be radiating the day's accumulated heat, wanning the air and creating the updraft He
hadn't counted on that; it slowed his descent and made steering much easier, so that he could choose any
landing spot he liked. He wished more light were available than the feeble starshine.