"Leo Frankowski - Stargard 7 - Conrad's Time Machine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Frankowski Leo)

groups of people working earnestly together to do something that stupid.
The arithmetic average of the number of streets coming into an intersection is
probably somewhere around four, but the modal number is three, with the next
most likely number being five and after that seven. The whole town is like a
quilt made by crazy old ladies out of random polygons. There's even one
frightening crossroads called 'Twelve Points." No shit.
Right downtown, doubtless by accident, there are these two streets that cross at
almost right angles, although one of them changes its name in the process. This
oddity so astounded the locals that they built this big office structure there
and called it "The Four Corners Building."
I passed it seven times trying to find Hasenpfeffer's address, and it was pretty
late when I finally got there.
I recognized it right off when I saw it. It was exactly the sort of place he had
to live in. It was an ancient clapboard mansion that had long ago been converted
into housing for the perpetually poor class, students. It was painted barn red
and had a yellow external staircase with fully eleven odd-angle turns in it that
led up to the sixth-floor attic. I didn't have to read the mailboxes to know
that Hasenpfeffer had to live on top. He was home, and—A Wonderment!—was
actually alone, bereft of all female accompaniment.
"Well, Tom. The parallelism of truly linked souls." Hasenpfeffer hadn't changed
much. The same blue eyes, blond hair, and straight features. Only now he had a
full beard, his hair brushed his shoulders, and he no longer belonged on a
poster advertising the Hitler Youth Movement. Instead, he was ready to compete
in a Jesus Christ Look-Alike contest.
He was wearing this yellow scholar's robe with a garish collar.
"Huh?" My first comment to him in four years, barring a few letters.
"Your motorcycle. I saw you pull up. I have one just like it, but without the
Ranger faring." He stood up and twirled to show off the gaudy cadmium yellow
circus tent he was wearing. It had two broad strips of bright blue velvet
running up the front, over the shoulders, and then meeting at the back of this
oversized hood. Not that he could have put up the hood, since he wore this black
tam-o'-shanter with a gold tassel.
"What do you think?"
"They make you wear that all the time, or just when you're on duty?"
"None of the above. I'm getting my doctorate in Behavioral Psychology tomorrow.
Thatis why you came, isn't it?"
"Well, no. Just passing through. But I'll stick around if you want."
"You are out of the Air Force?"
"Yeah."
"Any plans?"
"Uh, none, really." I didn't think that he'd understand about officers.
"Excellent! Then we can leave in two days."
"Leave? Where are we going?"



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"No place in particular. I have a Department of Defense grant to study social