"James Tiptree Jr - The Last Flight of Dr. Ain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

THE LAST FLIGHT OF
DR. AIN
James Tiptree. Jr.

Ain was recognized on the Omaha-Chicago flight. A PVV biologist
colleague from Pasadena came out of the toilet and saw Ain in an aisle
seat. Five years before, this man had been jealous of Ain's huge grants.
Now he nodded coldly and was surprised at the intensity of Ain's response.
He almost turned back to speak, but he felt too tired; like nearly everyone,
he was fighting the flu.
The stewardess handing out coats after they landed remembered Ain
too: a tall thin nondescript man with rusty hair. He held up the line
staring at her; since he already had his raincoat with him she decided it
was some kooky kind of pass and waved him on.
She saw Ain shamble off into the airport smog, apparently alone.
Despite the big Civil Defense signs, O'Hare was late getting underground.
No one noticed the woman.
The wounded, dying woman.
Ain was not identified en route to New York, but a 2:40 jet carried an
"Ames" on the checklist, which was thought to be a misspelling of Ain. It
was. The plane had circled for an hour while Ain watched the smoky
seaboard monotonously tilt, straighten, and tilt again.
The woman was weaker now. She coughed, picking weakly at the scabs
on her face half-hidden behind her long hair. Her hair, Ain saw, that great
mane which had been so splendid, was drabbed and thinning now. He
looked to seaward, willing himself to think of cold, clean breakers. On the
horizon he saw a vast black rug: somewhere a tanker had opened its vents.
The woman coughed again. Ain closed his eyes. Smog shrouded the plane.
He was picked up next while checking in for the BOAC flight to
Glasgow. Kennedy Underground was a boiling stew of people, the air
system unequal to the hot September afternoon. The check-in line swayed
and sweated, staring dully at the newscast. SAVE THE LAST GREEN
MANSIONS—a conservation group was protesting the defoliation and
drainage of the Amazon basin. Several people recalled the beautifully
colored shots of the new clean bomb. The line squeezed together to let a
band of uniformed men go by. They were wearing buttons inscribed:
WHO'S AFRAID?
That was when a woman noticed Ain. He was holding a news-sheet, and
she heard it rattling in his hand. Her family hadn't caught the flu, so she
looked at him sharply. Sure enough, his forehead was sweaty. She herded
her kids to the side away from Ain.
He was using Instac throat spray, she remembered. She didn't think
much of Instac; her family used Kleer. While she was looking at him, Ain
suddenly turned his head and stared into her face, with the spray still
floating down. Such inconsiderateness! She turned her back. She didn't
recall his talking to any woman, but she perked up her ears when the clerk
read off Ain's destination. Moscow!
The clerk recalled that too, with disapproval. Ain checked in alone, he
reported. No woman had been ticketed for Moscow, but it would have
been easy enough to split up her tickets. (By that time they were sure she