"Kim Stanley Robinson - Mars 2 - Blue Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

But political power ... say it did come out of the look in people's eye. You
could fight forever, but if people weren't behind you. . . .

Ann continued to think about that as she drove down into Sheffield, having
decided to skip the farce of the afternoon strategy session in east Pavonis.
She wanted to have a look at the seat of the action.
It was curious how little seemed to have changed in the day-to-day life of
Sheffield. People still went to work, ate in restaurants, talked on the grass
of the parks, gathered in the public spaces in this most crowded of tent
towns. The shops and restaurants were jammed. Most businesses in Sheffield had
belonged to the metanats, and now people read on their screens long arguments
over what to do-what the employees' new relationship to their old owners
should be- where they should buy their raw materials, where they should sell-
whose regulations they ought to obey, whose taxes they ought to pay. All very
confusing, as the screen debates and the nightly news vids and the wrist nets
indicated.
The plaza devoted to the food market, however, looked as it always had. Most
food was grown and distributed by co-ops; ag networks were in place, the
greenhouses on Pavonis were still producing, and so in the market things ran
as usual, goods paid for with UNTA dollars or with credit. Except once or
twice Ann saw sellers in their aprons shouting red-faced at customers, who
shouted right back, arguing over some point of government policy. As Ann
passed by one of these arguments, which were no different than those going on
among the leaders in east Pavonis, the disputants all stopped and stared at
her. She had been recognized. The vegetable seller said loudly, "If you Reds
would lay off they would just go away!"
"Ah come on," someone retorted. "It isn't her doing it."
So true, Ann thought as she walked on.
A crowd stood waiting for a tram to come. The transport systems were still
running, ready for autonomy. The tent itself was functioning, which was not
something to be taken for granted, though clearly most people did;Tjut every
tent's operators had their task obvious before them. They mined their raw
materials themselves, mostly out of the air; their solar collectors and
nuclear reactors were all the power they needed. So the tents were physically
fragile, but if left alone, they could very well become politically
autonomous; there was no reason for them to be owned, no justification for it.
So the necessities were served. Daily life plodded on, barely perturbed by
revolution.
Or so it seemed at first glance. But there in the streets also were armed
groups, young natives in threes and fours and fives, standing on street
corners. Revolutionary militias around their missile launchers and remote
sensing dishes- green or red, it didn't matter, though they were almost
certainly greens. People eyed them as they walked by, or stopped to chat and
find out what they were doing. Keeping an eye on the Socket, the armed natives
said. Though Ann could see that they were functioning as police as well. Part
of the scene, accepted, supported. People grinned as they chatted; these were
their police, they were fellow Martians, here to protect them, to guard
Sheffield for them. People wanted them there, that was clear. If they hadn't,
then every approaching questioner would have been a threat, every glance of
resentment an attack; which eventually would have forced the militias from the