"Ken Rand - Bad News from Orbit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rand Ken)

passage distorted the images.

How deep the room was I couldn't tell. I'd lost track of the entrance as I was pulled along in Horiuchi's
hulking wake. I realized the pub was wedge-shaped, the entry field at the wedge point, the walls
expanding out to accommodate a wide back wall against which several large, round tables sat. Many
simple, straight-backed chairs flanked each table, and a single light panel centered above the flat green
surface lighted each. The light hung low and was shielded so the faces of men sitting at the table might not
be easily seen from even a short distance.

That's where Horiuchi sat me, plonked me down without ceremony, as one would slap down an empty
beer mug on a barroom table before demanding a refill.

He sat back to the wall facing the room, me across the table from him, my back to the room's
cacophony. I began to sweat and my back itched. I remembered to turn on my HV recorder implant.

I could feel the familiar tingle of microservos buzzing under the skin behind my left ear as my HV unit
adjusted for the contrast between the well-lit table and Horiuchi's face hidden in the sharp darkness
centimeters above the pool of light. I subvocalized command to override the greater light source and
concentrate on Horiuchi's face. Still, I knew the holo images would require enhancement back at the
editing desk. I also keyed narrow focus on Horiuchi on my audio pickup. As long as I looked at him, he
could whisper and I'd record and hear him clearly, the din behind me filtered out.

George Horiuchi, Sgt., CMC19861614. Age twenty-nine Realtime. Two meters exact, one hundred
and ten kilos. Born on Oort Outpost Station Severeid. Widowed. One daughter living with relatives in
the Beltway. Joined CMC 7/19/346 PH. Promoted in the field during assignment to Spiratz intervention.
Recipient of six minor and five major unit and individual merit citations for heroism, etc. in recent
Berenson Corporation Spiratz Mining Division Altercation. Wounded in action. And so on. All CMC
PR—public relations non-information. A few quotes of praise from superiors and a list of citations,
training accomplishments and so on in military double-talk made up all I or anybody else knew about the
man who ended the Altercation single-handedly.

The orchestrated news conference a few days ago provided little else but tantalizing questions, which I
hoped Horiuchi would answer for me. If so, I'd have a real exclusive.

Exclusives are rare in my business. Newsworkers follow stories where they lead so we end up in
hoards, going from one war, riot, strike, accident, government function or natural disaster to the
next—one conference, briefing, backgrounder, or orchestrated tour or event to another. It's hard to
come up with something everybody doesn't already have, something worth having. If a newsie comes up
with something different, it's often just a sidebar or a feature. Nothing important.

But here I sat with the man every newsie in the system would give his or her right eyeball to interview
one-on-one. In person and close-up, Horiuchi was as mountainous as his holoimage seemed. His round
head, neckless and bald, protruded like a rock above massive shoulders, all muscles. Deep-set eyes
burned from under a hairless Neanderthal brow ridge. His nose seemed incongruously button-like, too
small for his face. His lips were a tight line above a solid chin.
 His left ear was missing and a red and orange flame, a recent tattoo, emerged from the earhole and
spread up the side of his smooth head. His incredible musculature, neckless head, and piercing eyes
intimidated enough, but the missing ear and the flame tattoo gave him a barbarous look that could loosen
the bowels of the most cold-blooded.