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ru_translate2007-06-25 10:53 am
sandy-kil.livejournal.com) wrote in ru_translate2007-06-25 10:53 am
Eng -> Ru, боевая фантастика
- Еда, - произнес я. – Ростбиф с кровью, много ростбифа, картофельное пюре с подливкой, кусок ягодного пирога. Большое холодное пиво «Tre kronor».
- У нас есть пайки, сэр, - напомнил Хельм.
- Recon Eggs Retief, - уточнил я.
Затык с выделенным, гугль и ко молчат. Подозреваю, что recon eggs - яичница из яичного порошка (reconstructed eggs???), но что такое retief?
- У нас есть пайки, сэр, - напомнил Хельм.
- Recon Eggs Retief, - уточнил я.
Затык с выделенным, гугль и ко молчат. Подозреваю, что recon eggs - яичница из яичного порошка (reconstructed eggs???), но что такое retief?
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Что -то типа "яичница а-ля Ретиф"? ))
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зы: а рассказов о Ретифе мно-о-ого...
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яйца разведчика а-ля ретиф
Re: яйца разведчика а-ля ретиф
Helm edged close to me, arranging various expressions on his face. "There's one thing, Colonel," he told me like a fellow who hated to be the bearer of bad tidings. I waited for the punch line. It was a doozie.
"We've actually been here over a year," he said quietly, as if hoping not to overhear it. "The sun hasn't moved; it's the same day, but the chronometer in the shuttle is still running, and the calendar, too. One year, last week. This is the third time you've come to. You'll faint again in a few minutes."
"It hasn't been more than a couple of hours, subjective," I grumped. "The instruments must be wrong. We can't afford to be that long!"
"I know, sir," the lieutenant agreed mournfully.
This time I got an elbow under me. I waited while the little bright lights gradually faded, then got my feet onto the floor. "Where'd Swft go?" I asked. Helm just looked confused, like I felt.
"I need my boots," I said. Helm helped get them on my feet, which I then planted on the
floor. I was sitting on the edge of tne commander chair now, and I leaned forward until my weight was taken by my feet, and stood up. I didn't try to push with my legs, just imagined a skyhook lifting my butt, and then I was standing up. I felt a little dizzy for a moment, but that was just the sudden change in the altitude of my brain. The "oh boy, I'm going to faint" feeling passed and I tried a step; it worked OK. Helm was staring me in the face. "For a second, sir, your face looked greenish. It's all right now. But you'd better sit down and not overdo it this time."
I agreed wholeheartedly and sat on the edge of the chair.
"Nourishment," I said. "Rare roast beef and plenty of it, mashed potatoes and gravy, a slab of berry pie. A tall, cold, Tre Kronor beer."
"Sir, we have the issue rations," Helm reminded me.
"Recon Eggs Retief," I specified. "If we've been here a year," I said, doubting it, "why haven't we starved?"
"I don't know, sir," Helm admitted. "In fact, I don't really know much more than you do, sir, and you've been in a coma most of the time." He looked apologetic—apparently because he had suggested that maybe I didn't know everything.
"Maybe," he offered timidly, "we don't need nourishment in a null-time vacuole, or whatever you called it. Maybe our metabolism stops."
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Ну в общем, да, такая inner joke. От разведчиков/диверсантов прилагательные слишком тяжеловесные, я бы сделал что-нибудь вроде "яичница походная а-ля Ретиф".
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