JК
Crashlander :: Нивен Ларри
Страница: 153 из 199Years, decades … wait, now. We'd scorched the nest, but there would be lamplighter soldiers left outside. They would have swarmed down and stripped the bones.
I found I was trying to push my back through a wall of fused coral. My empty stomach heaved. This was much worse than anything I'd imagined. I knew who this was.
Sunlight burned my back. My eyes were going wonky in the glare. Time was not on my side: I was going to be much sicker much quicker than I liked.
I made myself pull the boots loose, shook the bones out, and put them on. They were too big.
The jacket was a sailor's survival jacket, local style. The shoulders looked padded: shoulder floats. The front and sides had been all pockets, well stuffed, but front and back had been tom to confetti.
I stripped it off him and began searching pockets.
No wallet, no ID. Tissue pack. The shrapnel remains of a hand computer. Several pockets were sealed: emergency gear, stuff you wouldn't want to open by accident; and some of those had survived.
A knife of exquisite sharpness in a built-in holster. Pocket torch. A ration brick. I bit into the brick and chewed while I searched. Mag specs, one lens shattered, but I put them on anyway. Without dark glasses my pink albino eyes would go blind.
Sun block spray, unharmed: good. A pill dispenser, broken, but in a pocket still airtight. Better! Tannin secretion pills!
The boots were shrinking, adapting to my feet. It felt friendly, reassuring. My most intimate friends on this island.
I was still dizzy. Better let the 'doc take care of me now; take the pills afterward. I shook broken ribs out of the jacket. Shook the pants empty. Balled the clothing and tossed it out of the hole. Tried to follow it.
My fingers wouldn't reach the rim.
«After all this, what a stupid way to die,» I said to the memory of Sharrol Janss. «What do I do now? Build a ladder out of bones?» If I got out of this hole, I'd think it through before I ever did anything.
I knelt; I yelled and jumped. My fingers, palms, forearms gripped rough coral. I pulled myself out and lay panting, sweating, bleeding, crying.
I limped back to the 'doc, wearing boots now, holding the suit spread above me for a parasol. I was feverish with sunbum.
I couldn't take boots into the ICC. Wait. Think. Wind? Waves? I tied the clothes in a bundle around the boots, and set it on the 'doc next to the faceplate. I climbed into the intensive care cavity and pulled the lid down.
Sharrol would wait an hour longer, if she was still alive. And the kids. And Carlos.
I found I was trying to push my back through a wall of fused coral. My empty stomach heaved. This was much worse than anything I'd imagined. I knew who this was.
Sunlight burned my back. My eyes were going wonky in the glare. Time was not on my side: I was going to be much sicker much quicker than I liked.
I made myself pull the boots loose, shook the bones out, and put them on. They were too big.
The jacket was a sailor's survival jacket, local style. The shoulders looked padded: shoulder floats. The front and sides had been all pockets, well stuffed, but front and back had been tom to confetti.
I stripped it off him and began searching pockets.
No wallet, no ID. Tissue pack. The shrapnel remains of a hand computer. Several pockets were sealed: emergency gear, stuff you wouldn't want to open by accident; and some of those had survived.
A knife of exquisite sharpness in a built-in holster. Pocket torch. A ration brick. I bit into the brick and chewed while I searched. Mag specs, one lens shattered, but I put them on anyway. Without dark glasses my pink albino eyes would go blind.
Sun block spray, unharmed: good. A pill dispenser, broken, but in a pocket still airtight. Better! Tannin secretion pills!
The boots were shrinking, adapting to my feet. It felt friendly, reassuring. My most intimate friends on this island.
I was still dizzy. Better let the 'doc take care of me now; take the pills afterward. I shook broken ribs out of the jacket. Shook the pants empty. Balled the clothing and tossed it out of the hole. Tried to follow it.
My fingers wouldn't reach the rim.
«After all this, what a stupid way to die,» I said to the memory of Sharrol Janss. «What do I do now? Build a ladder out of bones?» If I got out of this hole, I'd think it through before I ever did anything.
I knelt; I yelled and jumped. My fingers, palms, forearms gripped rough coral. I pulled myself out and lay panting, sweating, bleeding, crying.
I limped back to the 'doc, wearing boots now, holding the suit spread above me for a parasol. I was feverish with sunbum.
I couldn't take boots into the ICC. Wait. Think. Wind? Waves? I tied the clothes in a bundle around the boots, and set it on the 'doc next to the faceplate. I climbed into the intensive care cavity and pulled the lid down.
Sharrol would wait an hour longer, if she was still alive. And the kids. And Carlos.