"Continuing Time - 04 - The AI War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

couple days ago, and you knew more about the exhibits than the curator. I asked
her about you, and she said that you were Gus Allen and Ben Parker, holy men
from Gandhi CityState, and you came over there a lot—I figured it had to be you.
You’re a well-known cartoon fan,” he added wearily.
“Jesus and Harry,” said Trent. “ ‘A well-known cartoon fan.’ That was it? That
was all you had to go on? You could have killed an innocent man. Not that I’m
not an innocent man,” he added, “but still, my point. Have you ever killed
anyone?”
Clearmountain looked up at Trent and said slowly, “Not—no. No. During the
TriCentennial I shot at some looters—I run a convenience store in Montana—but I
shot high. I don’t think I hit anybody.”
“You ever going to try and kill anyone again?”
“What?”
“I said—”
“I heard you. Are you serious? Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t?”
The humor drained from Trent’s features. Trent took a step closer to
Clearmountain, and Clearmountain had to raise his head to look up and meet the
man’s clear gray eyes. It happened right in front of him, but Charles Pierce
Clearmountain could not have described the process had his life depended on it.
The smile vanished and a stillness descended upon the man, a fierceness and a
radiant severity that struck Charles Clearmountain like the bullets he had fired
at the man: the person in front of him became Trent the Uncatchable, the
Unification’s deadliest enemy, the greatest Player of the age, the man who had
ten years ago walked through a wall with a dozen Peaceforcers watching him—
—and said, “So long as you live, will you ever try and kill anyone again?”
Clearmountain could not take his eyes off the man, and he had never meant
anything more in his life when he said, “Never. I never will, God, I swear it, I
swear it on my children.”
Trent relaxed slightly and the brig suddenly seemed twice as large. “Okay. We’ll
send you back to Earth, then.”
“You …” Clearmountain stumbled over it. “You’re not—”
“Going to make you suck death pressure?” Trent grinned at the man. “Nah. Killing
is wrong. I do try to avoid it.”

They borrowed a pressure suit for Trent from the Vatsayama; Trent had no
intention of risking death pressure again in the scalesuit Charles Clearmountain
had shot twice. It was fortunate that Reverend Andy didn’t need a loan; he was
the tallest player in the history of the World Football League, 220 centimeters,
taller than most loonies, tall enough that he had, for two years early in his
career, played both professional football and professional dropball. Pressure
suits of his height were not totally uncommon; p-suits that would fit a man of
his height and bulk had to be custom ordered.
Captain Bittan came down to the lock to see them off. “You don’t really want me
to send this son of a bitch back to Earth?”
Trent winced as he sealed the p-suit up around his cracked ribs. “I do. You’re
headed for Vesta this run anyway; put him on an Earthbound Trans-Planet ship
when you get there. He won’t be a problem, Sid. I promise.”
Trent owned her ship; Bittan obviously didn’t want to do what Trent was asking
of her, but couldn’t think of a way to say no. “All right,” she said finally.
“But I have just one thing to say to you: that was the worst Bad Cop/Antichrist