"Blaine Lee Pardoe - BattleTech - MechWarrior - Dark Age 14 - Target of Opportunity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pardoe Blaine Lee)

stammered a reply, saying no complete word, then closed the door behind him. The precentor rose and
shook Harwell’s sweaty hand.
“Have a seat,” Precentor Buhl invited, gesturing to one of the black leather chairs facing the desk. Tucker
dropped into the deep seat, nervously squirming to find a comfortable spot. As he shifted, the leather
groaned; now he was nervous and embarrassed. Tucker pushed up on the bridge of his eyeglasses
several times, trying to get them positioned just right. A fingerprint smudged his right lens; he regretted not
taking the time to clean them before coming to the meeting. He avoided wearing his glasses when he
could, but the correction his eyes needed couldn’t be made with surgery, so he wore glasses sometimes.
He wore them for this meeting because he wanted to see straight. For a moment he considered cleaning
the lens right there, but restrained himself. He didn’t want to blow this interview.
“Tucker,” Precentor Buhl said soothingly, “you seem nervous. Relax.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, then wished he hadn’t said the words out loud.Too formal, Tuck. You don’t
sound relaxed. He took another deep breath and looked around the office. It was much nicer than the
other middle manager offices he had seen during his career at ComStar. This one had very expensive
furniture-a big contrast to the sea of cubicles or the controlled-environment labs where he worked.
Behind the precentor, a large window framed a spectacular view of the ages-old pines ofGermany
’sBlack Forest , which grew right up to the edges of the ComStar research and development facility. The
forest was slowly recovering after being devastated by fire during the Jihad.
“I’ve been looking over your file. Very impressive, I must say. You just completed the new program at
the DeBurke Institute, correct?” Precentor Buhl looked up from the file on his desk and deliberately
closed the cover on the material so that Tucker couldn’t see it.
“Yes, sir. Just this afternoon-of course, you already know that. Graduated at the top of my class,” he
replied. The room felt warm; Tucker knew it was his nerves making him hot, but knowing that didn’t help
cool him down. And despite the pep talk he’d given himself, he knew he was still talking too fast.
“In fact,” the precentor recited calmly, staring at the younger man, “you graduated high school three years
early, got your bachelor’s degree in two years, your master’s in one, your doctorate in three more. If I go
by your record, you’re something of a prodigy, aren’t you, my boy?”
Tucker swallowed, but his throat remained bone dry. “I don’t think so, sir. I’m just focused on my
work-that’s all.”
Buhl cast him a wry sideways glance. “The DeBurke Institute is our newest training program, teaching
our most advanced research in hyperpulse technology,” he replied. “Your instructors all concur. There’s
nothing more that ComStar can teach you about interstellar communications systems.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Precentor Buhl paused for a moment, as if considering his next words. “Tucker, do you know what I do
here at ComStar?”
Tucker nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. You’re in charge of special projects for Primus Mori. Everyone in the
class talks about trying to get in to meet you. Anything that is on the cutting edge for research and
development, you’re in charge of.”
Buhl gave him a thin smile. “An overstatement. In a corporate environment like ComStar, people’s
importance is often exaggerated, my boy. I do, however, handle a number of unique projects. When
someone like you comes along, I make a point of finding the right niche for them in the organization.”
There was a smoothness to this explanation that Tucker guessed meant the precentor was concealing the
true nature of his role in the organization. He had no problem with that.
“They say that the best assignments are the ones you arrange,” he offered anxiously.
“Another exaggeration, I assure you. Though I have had my share of work cut out for me the last few
years. All of us have,” he said with a sigh. The reference was not lost on Tucker, or anyone else
associated with ComStar. Three years ago the organization had suffered one of its worse setbacks.
ComStar was the only Inner Sphere source for interstellar communication, and it had found its entire
network under siege by unknown forces.
Hyperpulse generators, or HPGs, formed a vast communications network that linked the worlds of The