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

to miss the hospital, with the grueling hours of physical therapy, and he
was eager to get back to work.
The bartender flicked to a sports contest, which broke his reverie. The
wall dissolved into a montage of shapes and thuds and groans, with the
roar of a crowd in the background.
Colorfully clad behemoths charged into each other at full speed,
emitting spectacular grunts and growls. It was a variation on football,
played without the ball. The big men pushed each other down the field to
the goal-posts, grappling and gouging. The viewpoint jiggled and
blinked as it shifted from one helmet-mounted camera to another.
They watched for a moment and then turned away in mutual
disinterest.
“Why did we ever get into a war with those fanatics?” she asked him
in exasperation, referring to the program she’d just flicked away from. “I
mean if the Mollies wanted to separate from the Commonwealth, why
the hell didn’t we just say, ‘So long guys—good riddance’ when we had
the chance? I mean, really?” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Apparently you’ve never heard of antihydrogen, hon.” Peter took a
sip of his beer. “Be awfully hard to run the Commonwealth without it.”
Though he could understand the question. The Mollies are so
obnoxious it seems insane to actually fight to keep ’em around.
She wrinkled her pert nose at him. “Don’t bother me with reality when
I’m grumping about Mollies. It’s not polite. And why are they Mollies,
anyway? They sure don’t like women, so how come they’re named after
my favorite aunt?”
“It means Mission of Life Lived in Ecclesia.” Raeder watched her take
that in; she shrugged the corners of her mouth down in disapproval.
“Ecclesia . . .” she muttered. “Sounds like a digestive disease.
Something with gas.”
Peter snorted, then took her hand in his left and said earnestly, “My
dear, I’m sorry to tell you this . . . you have ecclesia. Could you please
leave my office before you explode.”
She exploded in laughter. She was pretty when she laughed. Her eyes
sparkle, Raeder decided.
 “What’s it really mean?” she demanded, bringing one shoulder
forward coquettishly.
“Ecclesia? It means an assembly or church.”
Oddly, his knowing the answer seemed to intimidate her and she
withdrew shyly. Having the right answer too many times in a row seems
to do that to people, Peter thought in resignation as he watched her walk
away. He hated it when it happened with pretty women, though. He
pursed his lips. Maybe it’s for the best. Be awfully inconvenient to meet
the love of my life in the Oblaths Bar at this point in my career.
His new orders had been cut and he’d be leaving Cape Hatteras Naval
Spaceport just as soon as the shuttle pilot arrived to hand them to him.
And who knew when, if ever, he’d see this place again.
Peter grimaced wryly and very carefully picked up his drink with his
left hand, glaring at his right. I hate that thing. The best prosthesis
medical science could provide. It looked just like his real hand had.
Which was why they took three-dimensional holographs of every