"Mack Reynolds - Equality in the Year 2000" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

though you had landed on an alien planet. Everything is new to you; they
have been assimilating their surroundings ever since they were in the
cradle."
He gazed at her for one more frustrated moment, then turned back to
the auto-teacher and flicked it on. "Nevertheless," he muttered, "I'll stick
to it at least to the point where I can order a hamburger in a restaurant."
She frowned at his back, even as she finished her drink. "What is a
hamburger?"
"I'll never tell," he smirked at her over his shoulder. "That's one thing I
know about that you don't." But then he relented. "People used to eat
them, for some reason or other not quite clear to me now that I'm
acquainted with present-day cuisine."
Edith stood and went over to toss her glass into the auto-bar's disposal
chute.
"Well, I'll leave you to your studies and go to my room to do my own."
He blinked at her. "Your own? I thought you were out of school."
She had to laugh, albeit somewhat ruefully. "Just to keep up with
developments, I spend two hours a day at concentrated study, Jule. So
does everybody else who doesn't wish to fall by the wayside with what's
happening in the world. I'll see you at breakfast with Mother and Father."
He looked at her blankly. "Do they continue to study too?"
"Father puts in four hours a day, seven days a week. Of course, he is still
doing medical research, and attempts to keep up with the latest."

Chapter Two
The Year 1956
Unlike some, Julian West seldom realized that he was dreaming while it
was going on. The past usually came to him with such vivid accuracy that
he thought he was actually experiencing it. To call most of them dreams
was stretching a point. They were more accurately nightmares. Even
under a sedative, he was unable to avoid them.
Now he was reliving an experience he'd had some years before going
into stasis. It was on a trip to Tangier, Morocco, that fabulous city nestled
on the Straits of Hercules and forming the link between Africa and Egypt,
back when it was still an International Zone governed by eight European
countries.
He landed at the Tangier airport. As usual, the administration building
and its environs were swarming, mostly with men and boys. Save for a
dozen or so ladies in European dress, obviously awaiting passengers on
arriving flights, the handful of women were wearing the shapeless, tentlike
white cotton hail which came over the head and, in combination with a
veil, shielded the face completely except for the eyes, then dropped all the
way to the ground so that not even the feet could be seen. The costume of
the men was more diverse. Turbans of a half-dozen varieties could be
observed. Some had on the fez, that rimless, red-colored hat. Still others
wore wool knit hats, in such condition it seemed a self-respecting rat
wouldn't have slept in them. Almost universally, the men were garbed in
the djellaba, handwoven of wool or camel hair. It was a useful garment,
Julian knew, warm at night as a blanket, protection from the sun during
the day, and it repelled rain. In fact, there was a hood that could be pulled