"Blish, James - Common Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blish James)

Pock.
for the old man could certainly have made better use of
it than Garrard could. The situation demanded someone
trained in the- highest rigors of mathematics to be put to the
best conceivable use. Still and all Garrard began to feel
Pock.
that he would give a good account of himself, and it
tickled him to realize that (as long as be held onto his
essential sanity) he would return
Pock.
to Earth after ten Earth months with knowledge cen-
turies advanced beyond anything
Pock.
that Haertel knew, or that anyone could know
Pock.
who had to work within a normal lifetime. Pck. The
whole prospect tickled him. Pck. Even the clock tick seemed
more cheerful. Pck. He felt fairly safe now Pck in disregard-
ing his drilled-in command Pck against moving Pck, since in
any Pck event he Pck had already Pck moved Pck without
Pck being Pck harmed Pck Pck Pck Pck Pck pckpckpckpck-
pckpckpck.. . .
He yawned, stretched, and got up. It wouldn't do to be
too pleased, after all. There were certainly many problems
that still needed coping with, such as how to keep the impulse
toward getting a ship-time task performed going, while his
higher centers were following the ramifications of some
purely philosophical point. And besides . . .
And besides, he had just moved.
More than that; he had just performed a complicated
maneuver with his body in normal time!
Before Garrard looked at the calendar itself, the message
it had been ticking away at him had penetrated. While he
had been enjoying the protracted, glandular backwash of his
earlier feeling of satisfaction, he had failed to notice, at
least consciously, that the calendar was accelerating.
Good-bye, vast ethical systems which would dwarf the
Greeks. Good-bye, calculuses aeons advanced beyond the
spinor calculus of Dirac. Good-bye, cosmologies by Garrard
which would allot the Almighty a job as third-assistant-
waterboy in an n-dimensional backfield.
Good-bye, also, to a project he had once tried to undertake
in collegeto describe and count the positions of love, of
which, according to under-the-counter myth, there were sup-
posed to be at least forty eight. Garrard had never been able
to carry his tally beyond twenty, and he had just lost what
was probably his last opportunity to try again.
The micro-time in which he had been living had worn off,
only a few objective minutes after the ship had gone into
overdrive and he had come out of the anesthetic. The long