Книга только для ознакомления
. The only sound was the soft murmur of
the computer and the sighing of the air scavenger-and a regular, annoying sniff
from Bill. I shut out all sound and invited my soul. Neither Gwen nor I felt
like talking. It was a happy interlude, as peaceful as the Old Mill Stream.
"Richard! Wake up!"
"Huh? I wasn't asleep."
"Yes, dear. It's past twenty-one.**
Uh... so it was. Twenty-one oh-one and ticking. What happened to the alarm?
Never mind that now-I had five minutes and zip seconds to make sure we entered
descent program on time. I hit the control to process, from headstand to
bel-lywhopper backwards-easiest for descent, although supine backwards will work
just as well. Or even sideways backwards. Whichever, the jet nozzle must point
against the direction of motion in order to reduce speed for insertion into
landing program-i.e., "backwards" for the pilot, like me Fillyloo Bird. (But I'm
happiest when the horizon looks "right" for the way I'm belted in; that's why I
prefer to put the skycar into bel-lywhopper backwards.)
As soon as I felt the Volvo start to process I asked the computer if it was
ready to start landing program, using standard code from the list etched on its
shell.
No answer. Blank screen. No sound.
I spoke disparagingly of its ancestry. Gwen said, "Did you punch the
execute button?"
"Certainly I did!" I answered and punched it again
|
