"Dan Simmons - Phases of Gravity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

management trainees around the world. Only then the tone was not edged with a strange
suspiciousness and anger.
'Yes. That's all.' Baedecker nodded toward the pink form they had filled out before landing.
'This is all you have? One bag?' The agent hefted Baedecker's old, black flight bag as if it held
contraband or explosives.
'That's all.'
The man scowled fiercely at the luggage and then passed it contemptuously to another brown-
shirted agent farther along the counter. This man struck an X on the bag as if the violence of the
motion would drive out whatever evils it held.
'Move along. Move along.' The first agent was gesturing.
'Thank you,' said Baedecker. He hefted the flight bag and moved out into the darkness beyond
the customs shed.
The view had been one of blackness. Two black triangles. Not even the stars had been visible
during their final descent. Standing in their bulky pressure suits, locked in position by an array of
straps and stirrups, they could see only the featureless black sky. During most of its final burn
and descent sequence, the landing module had been pitched back so that the lunar surface was
invisible beneath them. Only during the final minutes did Baedecker have a chance to look out
onto the glare and tumble of the moon's face.
It's just like the simulations, he'd thought. He knew even then that there should be more. He
knew even as they were descending that he should be sensing more, feeling more. But as he
automatically responded to Houston's updates and inquiries, obediently punched the appropriate
numbers into the computer and read off figures to Dave, the same unworthy thought returned
again and again. It's just like the simulations.
'Mr. Baedecker!' It took a minute for the shout to register. Someone was calling his name, had
been for some time. Baedecker turned from where he was standing in the alley between the
customs shed and the terminal and looked around. Thousands of bugs danced in the glare of the
spotlights. People wrapped in white robes slept on the sidewalk, sat huddled against the dark
buildings. Dark men in bright shirts leaned against black-and-yellow cabs. He turned the other
way just as the girl caught up to him.
'Mr. Baedecker! Hello.' She stopped with a graceful half step, threw her head back, paused to
take a deep breath.
'Hello,' said Baedecker. He had no idea who the young woman was but was haunted with a
strong sense of déjà vu. Who in the world would be greeting him in New Delhi at four-thirty in
the morning? Someone from the embassy? No, they didn't know he was coming and wouldn't
care if they did. Not anymore. Bombay Electronics? Hardly. Not in New Delhi. And this young
blonde was obviously American. Always poor at remembering names and faces, Baedecker felt
the familiar flush of guilt and embarrassment. He ransacked his memory. Nothing.
'I'm Maggie Brown,' said the girl and stuck her hand out. He shook it, surprised at how cool it
felt. His own skin felt feverish even to himself. Maggie Brown? She brushed back a loose strand
of her shoulder-length hair and again Baedecker was struck with a sense of having seen her
before. He would go under the assumption that she worked with NASA, although she appeared
too young to have . . .
'I'm Scott's friend,' she said and smiled. She had a wide mouth and a slight gap between her
front teeth. Somehow the effect was pleasant.
 'Scott's friend. Of course. Hello.' Baedecker shook her hand again. Looked around again.
Several cabbies had come up to them and were proffering rides. He shook his head, but their
babble only intensified. Baedecker took the girl's elbow and turned away from the gesticulating
mob. 'What are you doing here? In India, I mean. And here, too.' Baedecker gestured lamely at
the narrow street and the long shadow of the terminal. He remembered her now. Joan had shown
him a picture of her the last time he had visited Boston. The green eyes had stuck in his memory.