-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Ричард Морган
-
- Видоизмененный углерод
-
- Стр. 263/560
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Routine
check
,
Carnage
,
"
said
Ortega
,
helping
me
out
.
"
Been
some
bomb
threats
on
tonight
’
s
fight
.
We
’
re
here
to
have
a
look
.
"
Carnage
laughed
,
jarringly
.
"
As
if
you
cared
.
"
"
Well
,
like
I
said
,
"
Ortega
answered
evenly
,
"
it
’
s
routine
.
"
"
Oh
well
,
you
’
d
better
come
along
then
.
"
The
synthetic
sighed
and
nodded
at
me
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
with
him
?
Did
they
lose
his
speech
functions
in
the
stack
?
"
We
followed
him
towards
the
back
of
the
ship
and
found
ourselves
skirting
the
pit
formed
by
the
rolled
-
back
cover
of
the
rearmost
cargo
cell
.
I
glanced
down
inside
and
saw
a
circular
white
fighting
ring
,
walled
on
four
sides
by
slopes
of
steel
and
plastic
seating
.
Banks
of
lighting
equipment
were
strung
above
but
there
were
none
of
the
spiky
spherical
units
I
associated
with
telemetry
.
In
the
centre
of
the
ring
,
someone
was
knelt
,
painting
a
design
on
the
mat
by
hand
.
He
looked
up
as
we
passed
.
"
Thematic
,
"
said
Carnage
,
seeing
where
I
was
looking
.
"
Means
something
in
Arabic
.
This
season
’
s
fights
are
all
themed
around
Protectorate
police
actions
.
Tonight
it
’
s
Sharya
.
Right
Hand
of
God
Martyrs
versus
Protec
Marines
.
Hand
to
hand
,
no
blades
over
ten
centimetres
.
"
"
Bloodbath
,
in
other
words
,
"
said
Ortega
.
The
synth
shrugged
.
"
What
the
public
wants
,
the
public
pays
for
.
I
understand
it
is
possible
to
inflict
an
outright
mortal
wound
with
a
ten
-
centimetre
blade
.
Just
very
difficult
.
A
real
test
of
skill
,
they
say
.
This
way
.
"
We
went
down
a
narrow
companionway
into
the
body
of
the
ship
,
our
own
footsteps
clanging
around
us
in
the
tight
confines
.
