"Mack Reynolds - Tomorrow Might Be Different" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

The other said, "You've probably forgotten my name. I'm Frank Jones, from SanSan, California."

"Of course not," Mike lied. "You came on the plane from London, on Friday." Actually, he did
remember Mr. Jones, although not by name. The man stood out due to his lack of typicalness. The other
tourists came in sportswear, most of them bearing cameras, skin diving apparatus, tennis rackets, golf
clubs and such. Mr. Jones had landed in a business suit, in which he was presently sweltering and was
looking glum even as vacationists went. He had a sad face, somewhat reminiscent of Lincoln before he
grew the beard, must have gone about forty years of age, but was seemingly in good physical trim. He
was nursing a bottle of beer.

Mike said, "SanSan? That doesn't tell you much. The city stretches from San Francisco to San Diego
now, doesn't it."

"I come from the area once known as Santa Barbara," Jones said.

Automatically, Mike let his eyes go around the bar, checking to see if any of his people were in some
kind of a bind. Two or three of the Russkies were taking shots in the patio-lounge with their 3-D
cameras. Regardless of country, the tourist is a snapshot taker, but no nation on earth had ever equaled
the Russkies.

Just to be saying something, Mike said, "I wonder why none of the Western countries have ever gone
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into producing 3-D cameras. It's a natural development in photography."

Frank Jones snorted his dour indignation. "How? With the Russkies flooding the market with their
product at five dollars per camera, retail, how would a Western company ever get going? That Mikoyan
Camera works up in Leningrad has a capacity as high as all other camera factories in the world
combined. All automated, of course. I understand that less than a hundred men are employed in the
place. Basically, it turns out cameras for the Soviet Complex, but when the Kremlin decides it needs
some foreign exchange, they dump a couple of hundred million cameras on the world market at cutthroat
prices."

"I guess you're right," Mike said. "Where will it end? They're selling aircushion cars all over Europe for
about two hundred dollars. I understand that Volkswagen-Fiat is thinking of folding up. Can't stand the
competition. Of course," he added loyally, "I don't think they're up to the standards of the
Ford-Chevrolet Company, cars, but

"But two hundred bucks is a far cry from four thousand," Jones finished. "It gets to the point where if you
need some minor repairs, you don't bother. You throw the car away and buy another one." ^

"It piles up," Mike agreed.

"In actuality, it's the same deal as with the cameras," Jones pursued. "Back in the 1960s the Russkies
didn't turn out more than a few thousand automobiles a year. They were interested in building more steel
mills, more basic industry. But when they got to the point where they were producing all the steel they
could possibly use, in the 1970s, they built an automated automobile plant, there in Sverdlovak, that