"Big U, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stephenson Neal)

informal atmosphere of the Physics Department, appointments were
viewed with a certain Heisenbergian skepticism, as though being in
the right place at the right time would involve breaking a natural law
and was therefore impossible to begin with. Outside the picture
windows of the library, the ghettos of the City were filled with
smoky light, and occasionally a meteor streaked past and crashed in
flames in the access lot below. They were not actual meteors, but
merely various objects soaked in lighter fluid, ignited and thrown
from a floor in E Tower above, trailing fire and debris as they
zoomed earthward.
Casimir found this perversely comforting. It was just the sort of
insanity he hadn't been able to get away from during his first week
at American Megaversity. Soon the miserable Casimir had taken me
up on my offer to stop by at any time, showing up at my door just
before midnight, wanting to cry but not about to. I took coffee, he
took vodka, and soon we understood each other a little better. As he
explained it, no one here had the least consideration for others, or the
least ability to think for themselves, and this combination was hard
to take after having been an adult. Nor had academics given him any
solace; owing to the medieval tempo of the bureaucracy, he was still
mired in kindergarten-level physics. Of course he could speed these
courses up just by being there. Whenever a professor asked a
question, rhetorical or not, Casimir shouted the answer immediately.
This earned him the hatred and awe of his classmates, but it was his
only source of satisfaction. As he waited for his situation to become
sensible, he sat in on the classes he really wanted to take, in effect
taking a double load.
"Because I'm sure Sharon is going to bring me justice," Casimir
had declared, raising his voice above a grumble for the first time.
"This guy makes sense! He's like you, and I can't understand how
he ended up in this place. I never thought I'd be surprised by
someone just because he is a sensible and a good guy, but in this
place it's a miracle. He c. out me, asks questions about my life—it's
as though aiscovering what's best for me is a research project we're
working on as a team. i can't believe a great man like him would
care." Long, somber pause. "But I don't think even he can make up
for what's wrong with this place. How about you, Bud? You're
normal. What are you doing here?" Lacking an answer, I changed
the subject to basketball.
A trio of meteors streaked across the picture windows and it was
8:10. Casimir returned his book and exited into the dark shiny hail.
He was now at the upper limit of the Burrows, the bloc of the Plex
that housed the natural sciences. Two floors above him, on the sixth
and top floor of the base, was Emeritus Row, the plush offices of the
academic superstars. He made his way there leisurely, knowing he
was welcome.
Emeritus Row was dark and silent, illuminated only by the
streak of warm yellow splashed away from Sharon's door. Casimir
removed his glacier glasses. "Come in," came the melodious answer
to his knock, and Casimir Radon entered his favorite room in the