Read Online L. Neil Smith - North American Confederacy 02 by Nagasaki Vector - Free Book Online
Authors: Nagasaki Vector
Ads: Link
it’d gotten black as pitch outside. What I needed was a local hilltop, something with a nice cliff backside t’drop over if and when I saw the flare. Another heat-alarm winked on the board— Georgie 's way of teliin’ me Cromney an’ his cronies were workin’ on the engine-room hatch. I gathered up my worshippers and left the flight deck. Pistol in hand, I cracked the lock.
Thunder split the air!
By the time I unglued myself from the overhead, gratified that the Gold Cup’s safety was in good condition, a solid wall of high-country rain filled the darkened meadow. I glanced at my—
Those sons of bitches! Somewhere in the past few crowded hours, they’d managed t’smash my graduation watch! Dunno why I hadn’t noticed before. I unstrapped it hastily, wondering what the microfission instrument might’ve leaked all over me already. Firming my conviction, I stepped outside, letting my left wrist take a good rain-soaking. The Freenies were right behind me.
Lightning flashed!
And three hours later, I was as lost as I ever have been.
In hopes of later recovery and repair, I’d buried my fractured Nukatron near Georgie 's landing ramp, given her titanium flank a fond final pat, and made for the sheltering pines. They’re overrated. Dunno if you’ve ever tried using a tree t’get outa the rain. Wasn’t long before I was wet clean through an’ crinklin’ up around the edges. The Freenies chittered happily, their carapaces shedding precipitation like greased Teflon. Intermittent lightning strokes ruined my night vision; the downpour itself was blinding. I kept looking for a cave, the bole of a big tree—anyplace where it was drier’n I was.
Next time I turned around, I couldn’t tell which direction Georgie was.
The rain finally faded away, leaving the goddamn trees t’dribble down my neck another couple hours. Darkest night I ever did see. I spent most of it looking for my ship. And all the next day. The hills were lousy with vacant, flower-filled meadows. Goddamn scenery, anyway. I did stumble across the skeleton of an elk, which cheered me up no end. If he couldn’t make it out here in the boonies where he belonged, what chance did Mister First Nighter of Greater Oklahoma City stand?
Says here in the survival manual, “When in doubt, go downhill”—especially if you’re following a creek, few of which flow the other way. “Eventually, you’ll come to civilization.” That’s how I spent the second day and mosta the third, following a creek. It led me to another creek.
Nights I endured with my suit turned up as high as it would go (not high enough), hunched over a cautious little teacup-sized fire. Second morning, I woke up covered with frost. Warmed through by a vigorous fit of coughing, I ate the last of my concentrates, sharing powdered instant coffee with the Freenies, who seemed otherwise content to forage.
The principal disadvantage to nature-in-the-raw isn’t that it’s uncomfortable. It’s boring. One authentically rustic tree or boulder looks pretty much like another, and half a million acres of ’em tends t’pall. Nothin’ to listen to except the squishing of your muddy shoes. Gimme a junkyard or a roadside holoboard any time—idiots who like gawkin’ at the Great Outdoors never hadda measure it one exhausted footstep at a time, using moldy leaves for toilet paper an’ not knowin’ if they were ever gonna make it back t’beer-on-tap an’ that redhead in Vonbraunsville.
it was the third night, now. As before, I shaved a couple twigs an’ touched ’em to the lighter in the handle of my knife. They smoldered agreeably; I only sneezed once. Setting them carefully on a bed of rust-brown needles and other twigs, I blew them into a tiny, sputtering fire and rested till I wasn’t dizzy anymore.
It was dark again, as seems t’happen with some regularity. The fire flickered as I fed it, baking myself on the front side while my back froze, then turning to bake my back as I
Thunder split the air!
By the time I unglued myself from the overhead, gratified that the Gold Cup’s safety was in good condition, a solid wall of high-country rain filled the darkened meadow. I glanced at my—
Those sons of bitches! Somewhere in the past few crowded hours, they’d managed t’smash my graduation watch! Dunno why I hadn’t noticed before. I unstrapped it hastily, wondering what the microfission instrument might’ve leaked all over me already. Firming my conviction, I stepped outside, letting my left wrist take a good rain-soaking. The Freenies were right behind me.
Lightning flashed!
And three hours later, I was as lost as I ever have been.
In hopes of later recovery and repair, I’d buried my fractured Nukatron near Georgie 's landing ramp, given her titanium flank a fond final pat, and made for the sheltering pines. They’re overrated. Dunno if you’ve ever tried using a tree t’get outa the rain. Wasn’t long before I was wet clean through an’ crinklin’ up around the edges. The Freenies chittered happily, their carapaces shedding precipitation like greased Teflon. Intermittent lightning strokes ruined my night vision; the downpour itself was blinding. I kept looking for a cave, the bole of a big tree—anyplace where it was drier’n I was.
Next time I turned around, I couldn’t tell which direction Georgie was.
The rain finally faded away, leaving the goddamn trees t’dribble down my neck another couple hours. Darkest night I ever did see. I spent most of it looking for my ship. And all the next day. The hills were lousy with vacant, flower-filled meadows. Goddamn scenery, anyway. I did stumble across the skeleton of an elk, which cheered me up no end. If he couldn’t make it out here in the boonies where he belonged, what chance did Mister First Nighter of Greater Oklahoma City stand?
Says here in the survival manual, “When in doubt, go downhill”—especially if you’re following a creek, few of which flow the other way. “Eventually, you’ll come to civilization.” That’s how I spent the second day and mosta the third, following a creek. It led me to another creek.
Nights I endured with my suit turned up as high as it would go (not high enough), hunched over a cautious little teacup-sized fire. Second morning, I woke up covered with frost. Warmed through by a vigorous fit of coughing, I ate the last of my concentrates, sharing powdered instant coffee with the Freenies, who seemed otherwise content to forage.
The principal disadvantage to nature-in-the-raw isn’t that it’s uncomfortable. It’s boring. One authentically rustic tree or boulder looks pretty much like another, and half a million acres of ’em tends t’pall. Nothin’ to listen to except the squishing of your muddy shoes. Gimme a junkyard or a roadside holoboard any time—idiots who like gawkin’ at the Great Outdoors never hadda measure it one exhausted footstep at a time, using moldy leaves for toilet paper an’ not knowin’ if they were ever gonna make it back t’beer-on-tap an’ that redhead in Vonbraunsville.
it was the third night, now. As before, I shaved a couple twigs an’ touched ’em to the lighter in the handle of my knife. They smoldered agreeably; I only sneezed once. Setting them carefully on a bed of rust-brown needles and other twigs, I blew them into a tiny, sputtering fire and rested till I wasn’t dizzy anymore.
It was dark again, as seems t’happen with some regularity. The fire flickered as I fed it, baking myself on the front side while my back froze, then turning to bake my back as I
Similar Books
