"Thomas Easton - Organic Future 02 - Greenhouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

generate enough litter to satisfy their needs.

Tom's boss was a Ukrainian immigrant who liked to brag of his prosperity.
Looking sadly down at his flat belly, he would shake his head slowly back and
forth and say, "My grandmother would be ashamed of me. In her day, a
successful merchant would be fat !" But not him. He had, he would add, left the
homeland just in time. The Ukraine had once been a breadbasket, but climate
change had made it a dustbowl, and those of his relatives who were still there
were starving. He did not say that many would be dead already if he did not
send money, but Tom knew. Tom also knew that the amounts he sent were what
kept him lean.

Albert Mettnitzky spent most of his time in an upstairs office. He
displayed his own green coverall on the floor of his Greengenes franchise only
when there were too many customers for Tom to handle or, as now, when it was
time to lock up for the day.

"It's been a good day, Tommy. A good day. You go home now, and kiss that
Muffy for me."

Tom grinned. He said almost the same words every day. "I'll do that, Bert.
See you tomorrow."

Tom Cross grimaced as the damp heat beyond the store's door reminded him
of the quiet hum of the heat pump that kept the store cool in summer and warm
in winter. He grimaced again when he smelled...

Some days, the sidewalk in front of the store was totally blocked by
Engineer demonstrators. Today, there was only one, wearing a blue coverall
streaked with sweat stains, new and old. He wore a golden cogwheel, the emblem
of the cult-like movement, on his breast pocket. His beard was unkempt and his
body lean to the point of emaciation. His red-rimmed, glaring eyes refused to
settle long on any particular part of the scenery, bouncing from the store's
display windows to the traffic of gengineered vehicles in the street to the
pedestrians, most of whom did not share his obsession. He smiled only when he
saw one of the rare automobiles whose owners could afford fuel and hand-made
parts. Most of the old vehicles had long since lost their original bodies to
rust. The sheet metal was usually replaced with hand-crafted wood and gleaming
varnish.

The Engineer did not smile for bicycles, for they were too common. Though
they were mechanical, their virtues of simplicity and convenience had let them
survive intact the transition to a technology centered on biology.

The picketer's sign said simply "MACHINES, NOT GENES!" Most Engineers
expressed their hatred of the gengineering that had supplanted the Machine Age
more violently. Full-scale demonstrations were often marked by litterbug
barbecues or Roachster bakes.

Tom stood in the Garden's doorway long enough to watch the man pace slowly