"Walter Jon Williams - Hardwired" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

For hours he waited at Vandenberg, hoping one of them might bring a cripple in. None came.
Next thing Warren knew, Earth had surrendered. The Orbitals occupied Vandenberg, along with
Orlando, Houston, and Cuba, and Warren survived because he was stationed at a place that was too
valuable to destroy.
There was a lot of talk about the Resistance afterward, and Warren did his share of
talking...probably more than talking, if the story about a sabotaged shuttle, carrying a cargo of
executives from Tupolev I.G. to an impact on the Mojave, could be given any credence. Warren's
history after that grew a little more obscure, until he appeared working for the thirdmen in
Colorado and met Cowboy. The rest, as the Dodger would say, being history.
"Hi, C'boy," Warren says. He doesn't turn from his work.
"Hi." Cowboy opens the front of the Wurlitzer-the lock hasn't worked in decades-and
collects some quarters. He tells the machine to play some scratchy old country swing and then
walks across the darkened hangar.
"Low-pressure fuel turbopump," Warren says. Disassembled, the pump looks like a plastic
model kit for a Galapagos turtle. "Running red lights on my tests. See where the metal's bright,
here, where the blade is rubbing? I think I may have to machine a new part."
"Need a hand?"
"I just might."
Warren's face is craggier than usual in the bright overhead light, his eyes and forehead
shadowed by the brim of his cap so that his beaky nose seems bigger than it is. He's erect and
intense, and though he's flabby in places, these are places where flab doesn't matter much. Behind
him the soft colored lights of the Wurlitzer shine on the matte-black nose of a delta. He's the
actual owner of the airfield, with Cowboy as secret partner. Cowboy doesn't like data trails that
point in his direction.
Warren fiddles with the part a while more, then takes measurements. He moves over to the
lathe and puts on his goggles. Cowboy readies himself to hand him the tools when necessary. Spare
parts are hard to find for military-surplus jet engines, and the parts that are available often
have too many questions attached.
The lathe whines. Sparks spill like tiny meteors against the concrete floor. "I'm making a
run Wednesday night," Cowboy says. "In five days."
"I can come down Monday and start my checks on the panzer. Is that too late?"
"Not for where I'm going." There is resentment in Cowboy's voice.
"Iowa again?"
"Hell, yes." Anger flares in Cowboy's soul. "Arkady and the others...they keep looking at
their damn analyses. Saying that the privateers are undercapitalized, all we have to do is wait
and keep them from taking any cargoes."
"And?"
"And it's wrong. You can't beat the heat by playing their own game. We should be running
into Missouri every night. Making them eat fuel, ammo. Rock them if that's what it takes." He
snorts. "Undercapitalized. See what the loss of a dozen aircraft will do for their cash flow."
Warren looks up from the spinning lathe. "You running for Arkady on Wednesday night?"
Cowboy nods.
"I don't like the man. I wonder about him." Warren, in a studied way, is working the lathe
again. His white hair, sticking out from under his cap, flashes in the light of sparks.
Cowboy waits, knowing Warren will make his point in his own time. Warren turns off the


file:///F|/rah/Walter%20Jon%20Williams/Williams,%20Walter%20Jon%20-%20Hardwired.txt (3 of 137) [7/17/03 11:28:33 PM]
 file:///F|/rah/Walter%20Jon%20Williams/Williams,%20Walter%20Jon%20-%20Hardwired.txt