"David Weber & Linda Evans - Hells Gate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weber David)

adrenaline flooded his system. He didn't know exactly what the other man was holding, or how it
worked, but he knew from the way he held it that it was a weapon of some sort.
And what the fuck do I do now? he wondered frantically.
chan Salgmun shook himself. He was only a private employee of the Chalgyn Consortium these days,
working for one of the private firms licensed by the Portal Authority to explore the links between the
universes. But in his day, he'd served in the Ternathian Army, which considered itself the best on
Sharona, with reason, and he recognized the other man's confusion. Confusion that could be dangerous,
under the circumstances.
Here we both stand, armed, and scared as shit, he thought. All we need is for one of us to fuck
up. And that damned crossbow of his is cocked and ready to go. I know I don't intend to do
anything stupid . . . but what about him?
His thumb moved, very carefully disengaging the safety on his Model 9 rifle.
Osmuna saw the not-arbalest move slowly, stealthily, and the level of adrenaline flooding his system
rocketed upward. Doctrine was clear on this point. In the inconceivable event that another human
civilization was encountered, contact was to be made peacefully, if at all possible. But the overriding
responsibility was to ensure that news of the encounter got home. Which meant the people who had that
news had to be alive—and free—to deliver it.
And if Osmuna intended to stay alive and uncaptured, it probably wouldn't be a very good idea to let
this stranger point an unknown weapon at him.
He moved his left hand to the forearm of his arbalest and tipped it upward slightly.
Craaaaccccckkkkk!
"What the he—?"
Jasak's head snapped up at the sharp, totally unexpected sound. He'd never heard anything like that
flat, hard explosion. It was almost like a tiny sliver bitten off a roll of thunder. Or perhaps the sound a
frozen branch made shattering under an intolerable weight of winter ice. But it was neither of those things,
and whatever it was, it wasn't a natural sound, either. He didn't know how he could be so positive, yet he
was, and his first instant flare of astonishment disappeared into a sudden, terrible suspicion.




Chapter Two
Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr ducked under the open flap of her tent, stepped out into the early chill, and
sucked in a deep double lungful of morning. The crisp autumn air tasted like heaven, and she stretched,
closing her eyes to sort out the delightful scents floating on the breeze. Cinnamon-dry leaves underfoot
mingled with the soft, green fragrance of moss, and the deep, rich scent of wet earth from the forest floor.
She grinned in sheer delight, then opened her eyes to watch the gold-tinted mist that hung in a thick,
whisper-soft curtain along the stream they'd been following for three days. She could hear the broad
creek—it nearly qualified as a river—gurgling and chuckling its way through the ravine it had cut through
the forest.
Her husband, Jathmar Nargra, emerged from the tent behind her, and slanting sunlight turned his
thinning sandy hair into copper fire. The ends curled slightly from the dampness, like the baby curls in the
pictures Jathmar's mother had shown her after their marriage. Field equipment festooned his sturdy
canvas web gear: metal canteen, waterproofed compass, field glasses, canvas rucksack. He had his rifle
slung across one shoulder for greater ease in carrying, and a Halanch and Welnahr revolver rode his
belt.
The lever action rifle and heavy single-action pistol were for protection against inimical
wildlife—today, at least. There was literally no chance that they'd run into anything like claim jumpers or
a gang of portal pirates in a virgin universe, but that wasn't always the case out here on the leading edge
of the frontier. Shaylar was more than a little relieved that he wasn't going to need all that hardware