"Charles Stross - Missile Gap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

ship of its class, on an historic five-year cruise. You will boldly go where no Soviet man has gone before,
explore new worlds and look for new peoples, and to establish fraternal socialist relations with them. But your
primary objective is to discover who built this giant mousetrap of a world, and why they brought us to it, and
to report back to us–before the Americans find out.




Chapter Four: Committee Process
The cherry trees are in bloom in Washington DC, and Gregor perspires in the summer heat. He has grown
used to the relative cool of London and this unaccustomed change of climate has disoriented him. Jet lag is a
thing of the past–a small mercy–but there are still adjustments to make. Because the disk is flat, the daylight
source–polar flares from an accretion disk inside the axial hole, the scientists call it, which signifies nothing
to most people–grows and shrinks the same wherever you stand.
There’s a concrete sixties-vintage office block with a conference suite furnished in burnt umber and orange,
chromed chairs and Kandinsky prints on the walls: all very seventies. Gregor waits outside the suite until the
buzzer sounds and the receptionist looks up from behind her IBM typewriter and says, “You can go in now,
they’re expecting you.”
Gregor goes in. It’s an occupational hazard, but by no means the worst, in his line of work.
“Have a seat.” It’s Seth Brundle, Gregor’s divisional head–a grey-looking functionary, more adept at office
back-stabbing than field-expedient assassinations. His cover, like Gregor’s, is an innocuous-sounding post in
the Office of Technology Assessment. In fact, both he and Gregor work for a different government agency,
although the notional task is the same: identify technological threats and stamp on them before they emerge.

Brundle is not alone in the room. He proceeds with the introductions: “Greg Samsa is our London station
chief and specialist in scientific intelligence. Greg, this is Marcus.” The bald, thin-faced German in the smart
suit bobs his head and smiles behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Civilian consultant.” Gregor mistrusts him on
sight. Marcus is a defector–a former Stasi spook, from back before the Brezhnev purges of the mid-sixties.
Which puts an interesting complexion on this meeting.
“Murray Fox, from Langley.”
“Hi,” says Gregor, wondering just what kind of insane political critical mass Stone is trying to assemble:
Langley and Brundle’s parent outfit aren’t even on speaking terms, to say the least.
“And another civilian specialist, Dr. Sagan.” Greg nods at the doctor, a thin guy with sparkling brown eyes
and hippyish long hair. “Greg’s got something to tell us in person,” says Brundle. “Something very interesting
he picked up in London. No sources please, Greg.”
“No sources,” Gregor echoes. He pulls out a chair and sits down. Now he’s here he supposes he’ll just have
to play the role Brundle assigned to him in the confidential briefing he read on the long flight home. “We have
word from an unimpeachable HUMINT resource that the Russians have–” he coughs into his fist. “Excuse
me.” He glances at Brundle. “Okay to talk about COLLECTION RUBY?”
“They’re all cleared,” Brundle says dryly. “That’s why it says ‘joint committee’ on the letterhead.”
“I see. My invitation was somewhat terse.” Gregor stifles a sigh that seems to say, all I get is a most urgent
recall; how am I meant to know what’s going on and who knows what? “So why are we here?”
“Think of it as another collective analysis board,” says Fox, the man from the CIA. He doesn’t look enthused.
“We’re here to find out what’s going on, with the benefit of some intelligence resources from the other side of
the curtain.”
Doctor Sagan, who has been listening silently with his head cocked to one side like a very intelligent
blackbird, raises an eyebrow.
“Yes?” asks Brundle.
“I, uh, would you mind explaining that to me? I haven’t been on one of these committees before.”
No indeed, thinks Gregor. It’s a miracle Sagan ever passed his political vetting: he’s too friendly by far with