"Williamson,.Michael.Z.-.Freehold.02.-.The.Weapon.v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

got home, my mother started in on me. "I thought you wanted to
work with comms? That was the whole reason you signed up; for
the school."

"I can still go to that school. I get to do other stuff, too," I said.

Then my father hit me from the other side, "There's very few real
world applications for any of it, unless you plan to be a rescue tech
in the Dragontooth ski resorts, or an evac vertol medic. There's no
real money in it."

That was his gig: money. Money only concerns me as a means to
put a roof over my head. As to career goals, I had already jumped
in headfirst. I planned on being a military careerist. I wasn't
interested in civilian applications anymore. I was convinced of my
own immortality, and wanted to be a badass. I knew they'd never
understand that. Besides, after building a few bombs in the back
lot, I loved the idea of working with real explosives, and that did
have civilian applications with all the inland construction going on as
we developed the continent.

They tried to talk me out of it, and called the recruiters, but I was a
sworn adult and they couldn't do anything to stop me. They did
wish me the best and follow me to the port, where I was almost late
from mom's hugs and kisses. While appreciated, it was a bit
embarrassing.

* * *

There were other recruits on the flight, and we got along variously,
from reserved to riotously righteously fun. I hadn't been on a
ballistic flight in a couple of years, but the thrill of a spine-grinding
lift was tempered by the fear of what lay ahead. Or maybe it was
the booze. Still, high Gs, microgravity, swooping back to increasing
Gs and a thundering rollout are never dull.

We debarked, were met by a sergeant in uniform, and marched out
to a bus, then taken to a hotel.

I had expected to be treated like a number. I also had my own
ideas on how to avoid that. I was a jokester, a goof, and had
smuggled along a couple bottles of liquor. It made me popular with
some of the recruits, avoided with headshakes and wary glances
from those who thought me "strange." I never worried about
people like that.

Shortly, I was the center of a party of about ten recruits. They were
younger and older, men and women, including a few cute ones. I
had no illusions about bedding any of them. Not only was I
unsophisticated, with no idea how to approach a stranger, but we