"James Doohan - Flight Engineer Volume 1-The Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doohan James)

she usually carried over hers. “Watch the vid. I’ve got a bar to clean.”
He sighed and thumbed the controls:
*Flick*
“I want you, Vorn!”
“But, Lyrica, I have a wife, children!”
“You don’t want them, Vorn . . . you want me!”
“I pity you, Lyrica! For not knowing that there’s a world of difference
between wanting and loving!”
*Flick*
“Genuine anthracite from Earth. Formed millions of years ago of
actual living matter, this glittering stone can be yours for just . . .”
*Flick*
“Ssssiiiiiinnnnn! Oh, we tried to save them. Our fallen brothers and
sisters. We sought them out and reasoned and pleaded, but they wouldn’t
hear us. And so we turned our backs and fled them and the carnival of
EVIL. They wouldn’t leave. They sold to us a place they thought was a
desert. But we knew that we would make it a paradise!
“And yet . . . temptation was waiting for us. Yes, even here, with only
our brothers and sisters beside us. In the place we sought redemption
there lay a serpent . . . whispering of wealth . . . of pow-errr. We could
buy our paradise, we need not build it. There was so much we wanted
and the means was right there. In an almost unlimited supply of fuel.
And we fell.
“They wanted it! They would pay any price. . . . And we fell. We sold
them our precious resource, we let them build their factory platforms,
peopled with their own technicians. And WE helped them spread the
black stain of sin across the stars. WE gave them the means to
rrrrraaaappppe . . .”
“Uh. D’ya mind if I change that? When the Mollie Interpreters start
talking about rrrraapppe like that I get nervous.”
Raeder chuckled and handed over the vid control to the bartender.
They’d been flirting mildly since he’d sat down. She seemed to approve
of his black-Irish good looks, and he didn’t object to her cuddly caramel-
colored prettiness. And it was a very pleasant way to pass the time as he
sat waiting for transit orders.
He looked around. A big square room, the light level was just right,
lightened by beveled mirrors scattered around. The booths were roomy
and comfortable looking, and the tables were big enough to accom-
modate your elbows as well as your drink; even the bar stools made you
feel welcome. Golden oak accented the bar along one side with a
genuine brass foot-rail—spacers were finicky about things like that—and
signed holographs on the wall. The older ones were mostly Survey
Service types; the people who went out and found new systems, or died
trying. Lately it was fighter pilots and gunners and Marines shipping out
to fight the Mollies. The Oblaths Bar of Cape Hatteras Naval Spaceport
was a gem of its kind.
Of all the gin joints in all the bases in all the world, Raeder thought in
a Bogart voice, why did I have to walk into this one? This is what a bar
is supposed to be. He sighed. I’ve only been here once and I already
know I’m really gonna miss it, he thought wistfully. But he wasn’t going