"Joe Haldeman - The Coming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

He nodded at the phone. "The Second Coming, bambina. The Second Coming." He hung up the
wand and pulled a data crystal out of the small camera, and then stood and extracted a similar crystal
from the large one.
"Thanks, Professor, you were great. Gotta run. Couple science types be here in a half hour." He
started for the door.
"Your cameras?"
"They'll use 'em." He sprinted down the hall, crashed through an emergency exit, and ran down the
stairs.

Norman Bell
Norman winced at the ugly clanging the emergency door precipitated. A pure tone would do the
job. His wife called maintenance and the noise stopped.
He stood up and stretched. "Guess you're stuck here. Bring you back something to eat?"
"Where you going?"
"Greek place, Nick's."
"Hmm. One of those spinach things. Spinach and cheese. No hurry."
"Spanakopita." He bent over slowly to pick up his bicycle helmet. "Don't forget to watch yourself on
the news."
She was looking at a screen full of numbers and letters. "I wonder what channel."
Norman tapped the number on the side of the large camera. "Seven would be a good bet."
Downstairs, he unlocked the ancient bike and pedaled squeak-click-squeak though campus, taking
the long way downtown to avoid traffic. There weren't too many cars at this hour, but drivers were
erratic. The ATC didn't kick in until seven.
He checked his watch and pedaled a little faster. He would have to cross University Avenue, and it
was best to be off the main roads well before "the bitching hour." Some drivers would go a little crazy,
their last few minutes of manual control, trying to make an extra block or two before the ATC system
engaged and turned them into law-abiding citizens—or at least turned their cars into law-abiding
machinery. Until then, an orange light meant "grit your teeth and step on it."
 He got across University without incident, and kept up the rapid pace for the few blocks remaining,
just to get some exercise. He was a little winded by the time he locked up outside the Athens, Nick's,
and was glad Nick had the airco on inside. It was going to be a bad one today, close to eighty already,
with the sun barely over the trees. He could remember when it was never this hot in October in
Gainesville.
He selected a honey-soaked pastry and asked for strong Greek coffee and ice water, then put three
bucks in the newspaper machine and selected World, Local, and Comics.
He read the comics first, as always, to fortify himself. The world news was predictably bleak.
England and Germany and France snapping at each other, the Eastern Republics choosing up sides.
Catalonia declaring itself neutral today—the day after its sister Spain aligned with Germany, squeezing
France. Europe has to do this every century or so, he supposed.
The coffee and roll came and he asked for a glass of ouzo. Not his normal breakfast drink, but this
was no normal morning.
"Nick," he said when the man brought the liquor, "Would you mind turning on the seven o'clock
news? Channel Seven; Rory's going to be on."
"Your wife? Sure." He shouted something in Greek and the cube behind the bar turned itself on.
Still five minutes to go. The local station was filling time with its trademark "Girls of Gatorland" nude
montage. He watched a pretty young thing display her skills on the parallel bars, and then went back to
the paper.
Water riots in Phoenix again. Inner-city Detroit under martial law, the national guard called in after a
police station was leveled by a predawn kamikaze truckload of explosives. A man in Los Angeles legally
married his dog. In Milwaukee, twins reunited after sixty years immediately start fighting.