"Robert A. Heinlein - Methuselahs Children" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

Methuselah’s Children


PART I

„MARY SPERLING, you’re a fool not to marry him!“
Mary Sperling added up her losses and wrote a check before answering,
„There’s too much difference in age.“ She passed over her credit voucher. „I
shouldn’t gamble with you-sometimes I think you’re a sensitive.“
„Nonsense! You’re just trying to change the subject. You must be nearly thirty
and you won’t be pretty forever.“
Mary smiled wryly. „Don’t I know it!“
„Bork Vanning can’t be much over forty and he’s a plus citizen. You should
jump at the chance.“
„You jump at it. I must run now. Service, Ven.“
„Service,“ Ven answered, then frowned at the door as it contracted after Mary
Sperling. She itched to know why Mary would not marry a prime catch like
the Honorable Bork Vanning and was almost as curious as to why and where
Mary was going, but the custom of privacy stopped her.
Mary had no intention of letting anyone know where she was going. Outside
her friend’s apartment she dropped down a bounce tube to the basement,
claimed her car from the robopark, guided it up the ramp and set the controls
for North Shore. The car waited for a break in the traffic, then dived into the
high-speed stream and hurried north. Mary settled back for a nap.
When its setting was about to run out, the car beeped for instructions; Mary
woke up and glanced out. Lake Michigan was a darker band of darkness on
her right. She signaled traffic control to let her enter the local traffic lane; it
sorted out her car and placed her there, then let her resume manual control.
She fumbled in the glove compartment.
The license number which traffic control automatically photographed as she
left the controlways was not the number the car had been wearing.
She followed a side road uncontrolled for several miles, turned into a narrow
dirt road which led down to the shore, and stopped. There she waited, lights
out, and listened. South of her the lights of Chicago glowed; a few hundred
yards inland the controlways whined, but here there was nothing but the little
timid noises of night creatures. She reached into the glove compartment,
snapped a switch; the instrument panel glowed, uncovering other dials
behind it. She studied these while making adjustments. Satisfied that no
radar watched her and that nothing was moving near her, she snapped off
the instruments, sealed the window by her and started up again.
What appeared to be a standard Camden speedster rose quietly up, moved
out over the lake, skimming it-dropped into the water and sank. Mary waited
until she was a quarter mile off shore in fifty feet of water, then called a
station. „Answer,“ said a voice.
„’Life is short—‚“
„’-but the years are long.’“
„’Not,’“ Mary responded, „’while the evil days come not.’“
„I sometimes wonder,“ the voice answered conversationally. „Okay, Mary.
I’ve checked you.“
„Tommy?“