"Jack McKinney - Robotech 07 - Southern Cross" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

Robotechnology, especially the second-generation brand currently being phased into use,
required intense training and practice on the part of human operator-warriors. It was another era
in human history when the citizen-soldier had to take a back seat to the professional.
And somehow Bowie-who had never wanted to be a soldier at all-was a member of this new
military elite, entrusted with the responsibility of serving and guarding humanity.
Only, I'd be a lot happier playing piano and singing for my supper in some little dive!
Sunk in despair, Bowie found that even his treasured Minmei records couldn't lift his
spirits. Hearing her sing "We Will Win" wasn't much help to a young man who didn't want anything
to do with battle.
How can I possibly live this life they're forcing on me?
He plucked halfheartedly at his guitar once or twice, but it was no use. He stared out the
window at the parade ground, remembering how many disagreeable hours he had spent out there, when
the door signal toned. He turned the sound system down, slouched over, and hit the door release.
Dana stood there in a parody of a glamour pose, up on the balls of her feet with her hands
clasped together behind her blond puffball hairdo. She batted her lashes at him.
"Well, it's about time, Bowie. How ya doing?" She walked past him into his room, hands
still behind her head.
He grunted, adding, "Fine," and closed the door.
She laughed as she stood looking out at the parade ground. "Su-ure! Private Grant, who
d'you think you're kidding?"
"Okay! So I'm depressed!"
She turned and gave him a little inclination of the head to acknowledge his honesty.
"Thank you! And why are you depressed?"
He slumped into a chair, his feet up on a table. "Graduation, I guess."
They both wore form-fitting white uniforms with black boots and black piping reminiscent
of a riding outfit. But their cadet unit patches were gone, and Dana's torso harness-a crisscross,
flare-shouldered affair of burnt-orange leather-carried only the insignia of her brevet rank,
second lieutenant, and standard Southern Cross crests. Dark bands above their biceps supported
big, dark military brassards that carried the Academy's device; those would soon be traded in for
ATAC arm brassards.
Dana sat on the bed, ankles crossed, holding the guitar idly. "It's natural to feel a
letdown, Bowie; I do too." She strummed a gentle chord.
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"It's the truth! Graduation Blues are as old as education." She struck another chord.
"Don't feel like smiling? Maybe I should sing for you?"
"No!" Dana's playing was passable, but her voice just wasn't right for singing.
He had blurted it out so fast that they both laughed. "Maybe I should tell you a story,"
she said. "But then, you know all my stories, Bowie." And all the secrets I've ever been able to
tell a full-breed Human.
He nodded; he knew. Most people on Earth knew at least something of Dana's origins-the
only known offspring of a Zentraedi/Human mating. Then her parents had gone, as his had, on the
SDF-3 expedition.
Bowie smiled at Dana and she smiled back. They were two eighteen-year-olds about to take
up the trade of war.
"Bowie," she said gently, "there's more to military life than just maneuvers. You can make


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