"Forstchen,.William.R.-.Into.The.Sea.Of.Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forstchen William R)

Ian followed the Chancellor down the corridor into the dusty, cluttered closet that was lan's office. There the Chancellor released his numbing grip on lan's shoulder. He ran his finger along a bookcase and snorted with disdain when the digit came up black with two decades' worth of dust. Walking around to lan's desk, the Chancellor first carefully examined the chair as if expecting it to be booby-trapped, and then, barely satisfied, he lowered his towering form while pointing Ian to the visitor's chair on the other side of the desk.
"You know, Ian," his voice boomed, filling the tiny room, "I never could see the purpose of keeping your history program alive. Such things are a waste, in my mind." He smiled.
It's termination! Ian thought. My God, what will I do?
"But the Provincial Government of New America," the Chancellor continued, "decreed in the educational charter to this institution that we are to, quote, 'train functioning citizens who shall fit into the framework of our society and appreciate the traditions of our new Federated Republic,' unquote. In other words, my man, we are to train effective cogs for the wheels of the administration. And one of the teeth in that cog must be an understanding of history. Do you agree?"
Maybe it's not termination! "Of course, your Excellency, of course." His voice cracked.
"I knew you would agree, my good man. Of course, I've always felt that such courses as File Management or Interoffice Communications were far more valuable than your digging up the ancient past, but this is an institute of higher learning so we must be tolerant of minor eccentricities, mustn't we?"
"Of course."
"Tell me, Ian, how many people staff your department now?"
"I'm the only one. Don't you remember you cut the budget last year, eliminating Mr. Lelezi?"
"Ah, yes. Mr. Lelezi. He taught the history of the Holocaust War and the Second Dark Age?"
"Yes, your Excellency."
"The taped lectures we've made of him are an adequate replacement, are they not? Save us a significant sum, don't they?"
It would be termination!
"Tell me, Ian, do we have tapes of your lectures on file?"
Ian could only nod. The Chancellor had instituted that little trick five years back. The Board of Regents loved it, and the Chancellor was now hailed as a bold new innovator in education.
"Good, Dr. Lacklin, very good indeed. Would you be so kind as to write up a study guide for your course, in triplicate, and be sure to use the proper forms. I want it in my office first thing Monday morning."
The room started to spin. Ian felt as if he were looking -up from the bottom of a deep, deep well, and the only thing he could see at the end of the shaft was the Chancellor's wolfish grin.
"Does this mean," Ian asked weakly, trying to conceal the wheedling tone in his voice, "that my position is to be automated?"
"Well, my good man"—the Chancellor laughed, obviously delighting in this little diversion—"don't be so pale and glum. You don't want to spend the rest of your life in a classroom, now do you?"
"But history is my life, it's everything."
The Chancellor's grin suddenly became more sinister.
"We've other plans for you."
"Other plans?"
"Come now, Ian, you now as well as I do that this noble institution supports its staff and encourages it to broaden the field of knowledge through publication. I've been checking on you, my man—in eighteen years of teaching, you've never been published."
"There is my book, you know! Missing Colonies and the Heroic Figure in History."
"How many rejections have you had on that?"
Ian was silent.
"But that's not what I'm talking about. There are other forms of writing, take grants, for instance."
He wants me as a grant writer! Endless forms to fill out. I'll go mad, Ian thought. Digging the sands of Mars would be better. Perhaps Beaulieu would take me on as an assistant. But his stomach turned somersaults at the mere thought of space travel and weightlessness.
"You have some rather good experience with grants, my man. In fact, that's the reason for this friendly chat of ours. It's your grant, Ian. I just got a call from the Minister of Education, who has a brother in the Deep Space Exploration and Surveying Department. I'm talking about your grant proposal."
"My grant proposal?" I've never written a grant proposal. Ian was about to say that he had no idea what the Chancellor was talking about, but then thought it might be better not to admit such ignorance.
"You do remember your grant proposal?" the Chancellor asked suspiciously.
Ian forced a smile and nodded noncommittally.
"Right, then. I just wanted to be the first to congratulate you. Your grant has come through. You know what this means for our school? Isn't this wonderful?"
"It's come through," Ian replied, trying to keep his confusion out of his voice. "Why, that's wonderful." What the hell is he talking about?
"Well, aren't you excited, my good man? Think of the prestige it will bring to this institution."
And to your plans for being the next Minister of Education, Ian thought.
"Don't you have anything to say?"
Ian could only smile weakly.
"Ah, I understand, of course you're in shock over this whole thing. But you'd better get cracking, my good man. You're to be out of here Tuesday morning. By the way, are your passport and twenty-three-forty-four medical form up to date?"
"My twenty-three-forty-four?"
A glint of suspicion appeared in the Chancellor's eyes. He examined Ian as if he were an insect under a magnifying glass.
"Wake up, man, wake up. Your twenty-three-forty-four!"
"Sir, what is a twenty-three-forty-four?" Ian bleated.
"Good God, man, don't you understand what I'm talking about?" Exasperated, the Chancellor opened his attache case and pulled out a heavy document, bound in a red jacket. There was a quick flurry of pages and the Chancellor started to read.
" 'All members of the party must qualify for translight travel by successfully undergoing a full twenty-three-forty-four medical review.' Dr. Lacklin, you wrote that in the grant proposal, or don't you remember? It's standard medical policy for anyone traveling aboard the new translight vessels."
"I'm traveling translight!" Ian shouted in terror.
The Chancellor stood up to his full six-and-a-half-foot height and advanced around the desk. He loomed over Ian as if he were closing in for the kill, and Ian slipped lower into his seat.
"Dr. Lacklin, do you understand anything at all concerning what we've been talking about?"
Ian tried to sound self-assured, but only a mousy "no" squeaked out of him.