"Dan Simmons - Hyperion 02 - The Fall of Hyperion (V4.5)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

do. It was a perfect projection;
he sat in his chair amongst the others, his hands curled on the
armrests in a relaxed fashion; there was none of the haziness or see-
through common to mobile projections. His face was long, with high
cheekbones and a mobile mouth which suggested a hint of a sardonic
smile even at the most serious of moments. This was a serious
moment.
"No, CEO," said Councilor Albedo, "the Advisory Croup was not
asked to assess Ouster strength."
Gladstone nodded. "I assumed," she said, still addressing Morpurgo,
THE FALL OF HYPEHION
"that when the FORCE intelligence estimates came in, they incorporated
the Council's projections."
The FORCE:ground General glared at Albedo. "No rna'am," he said.
"Since the Core acknowledges no contact with the Ousters, we felt that
their projections wouldn't be any better than our own. We did use the
OCS:HTN aggregate AI network to run our assessments." He thrust the
foreshortened cigar back into his mouth. His chin jutted. When he
spoke, it was around the cigar. "Could the Council have done better?"
Gladstone looked at Albedo.
The Councilor made a small motion with the long fingers of his right
hand. "Our estimates ... for this Swarm . . . suggested four to six
thousand fighting units."
"You--" began Morpurgo, his face red.
"You did not mention this during the briefing," said CEO Gladstone.
"Nor during our earlier deliberations."
Councilor Albedo shrugged. "The General is correct," he said. "We
have no contact with the Ousters. Our estimates are no More reliable
than force's, merely . . . based upon different premises. The Olym-
pus Command School Historical Tactical Network docs excellent work.
If the AIs there were one order of acuity higher on the TuringDcmmler
scale, we would have to bring them into the Core." He made the graceful
gesture with his hand again. "As it is, the Council's premises might be
of use for future planning. We will, of course, turn over all projections
to this group at any time."
Gladstone nodded. "Do so immediately."
She turned back to the screen, and the others did so also. Sensing
the silence, the room monitors brought the speaker volume back up,
and once again we could hear the cries of victory, screams for help,
and calm recitation of positions, fire-control directions, and commands.
The closest wall was a real-time feed from the torchship HS N'Djamena as it searched for survivors among the tumbling remnants of Battle
Group B.5. The damaged torchship it was approaching, magnified a
thousand times, looked like a pomegranate burst from the inside, its
seeds and red rind spilling in slow motion, tumbling into a cioud of
particles, gases, frozen volatiles, a million microelectronics ripped from
their cradles, food stores, tangled gear, and--recognizable now and
then from their marionette tumble of arms or legs--many, many bodies.
The N'Dyamena's searchlight, ten meters wide after its coherent leap
of twenty thousand miles, played across the starlit frozen wreckage,
bringing individual items, facets, and faces into focus. It was quite