"Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweawer DOOM: Infernal Sky (english)" - читать интересную книгу автора

entrusted with material that was off-limits to them.
But if so, they kept it to themselves.
Jill's growing up fast. There's nothing wrong with
that. I know it bugs Fly when men old enough to be
her father start giving her the eye. She's tall for her
age. She has one of those pouty mouths that drive
men nuts. I don't worry about who kisses that mouth
so long as the brain directly over it is in charge. In
between spilling demon guts all over the great Ameri-
can West, I took Jill aside and gave her the crash
course in birds, bees, and babies.
Of course, she doesn't have to worry about any
sexually transmitted diseases. Medical science
marches on. But who would have thought that no
sooner does the human race eliminate AIDS than
along come monsters from space? In the words of the
late-twentieth-century comic, Gilda Radner, "It's al-
ways something."
Anyway, Fly acts more and more like a worried
father where Jill is concerned. This can be a good
thing. It gave him that extra bit of fire when he saved
her in Ackerman's lab. But I don't know how to tell
him to let go when I can't solve my own personal
problems—Albert as a prospective husband.
Albert is a sensitive man, a shy man. I don't want to
hurt him. I'd rather eat one of my own mini-rockets
than make him suffer. But I've spent my life being
true to myself. Now I don't know if it's concern for
Albert that makes me hesitate to accept his marriage
proposal ... or if I fear commitment to a man I love
more than I do a roomful of lost souls, the dumb
name the science boys have given the flying skulls. If I
survive our final missions, and Earth is secure once
more, will I be willing to give this man children? I
don't even want to think about it. Yet I know that that
expectation is implicit in his proposal. To Albert,
marriage without trying to have children only counts
as serious dating. Maybe I'm afraid of asking Fly to be
godfather to my kids.
As the director led us into his inner sanctum, I felt
once again that the four of us had already formed a
strange family unit of our own. Maybe we were the
model of the smallest functional social unit of the
future—but make sure the kid has a good aim!
As I gazed at the gigantic radio-controlled tele-
scope, the long tube reminded me of a cannon, a
perfect symbol for combining the scientific and the
military. Williams stood in front of it, feet braced,
hands behind his back. He seemed more military at
that moment than the admiral and the colonel, who