-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Ричард Морган
-
- Видоизмененный углерод
-
- Стр. 462/560
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
only
voices
were
the
cries
of
the
injured
spectators
,
and
those
I
ignored
.
Feeling
nothing
,
I
pulled
the
trigger
.
I
was
still
feeling
nothing
an
hour
later
when
Ortega
came
and
found
me
in
the
sleeving
hall
,
seated
on
one
of
the
automated
forklifts
and
staring
up
into
the
green
glow
from
the
empty
decanting
chambers
.
The
airlock
made
a
smooth
thump
and
then
a
sustained
humming
sound
as
it
opened
,
but
I
didn
’
t
react
.
Even
when
I
recognised
her
footfalls
and
a
short
curse
as
she
picked
her
way
between
the
coiled
cabling
on
the
floor
,
I
didn
’
t
look
round
.
Like
the
machine
I
was
seated
on
,
I
was
powered
down
.
"
How
you
feeling
?
"
I
looked
down
to
where
she
stood
beside
the
forklift
.
"
Like
I
look
,
probably
.
"
"
Well
,
you
look
like
shit
.
"
She
reached
up
to
where
I
was
seated
and
grasped
a
convenient
grill
cover
.
"
You
mind
if
I
join
you
?
"
"
Go
ahead
.
Want
a
hand
up
?
"
"
Nope
.
"
Ortega
strained
to
lift
herself
by
her
arms
,
turned
grey
with
the
effort
and
hung
there
with
a
lopsided
grin
.
"
Possibly
.
"
I
lent
her
the
least
bruised
of
my
arms
and
she
came
aboard
the
forklift
with
a
grunt
.
She
squatted
awkwardly
for
a
moment
,
then
seated
herself
next
to
me
and
rubbed
at
her
shoulders
.
"
Christ
,
it
’
s
cold
in
here
.
How
long
have
you
been
sitting
on
this
thing
?
"
