"Brin, David - Earth (UC)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

hills.
And at this rate, neither would George Button. Where
the devil is the man? Why did he agree to this meeting, if
he didn 'I plan on bloody showing up?
Alex checked his watch again, even though he knew
the time. He caught himself nervously tapping one shoe
against the nearby table leg, and stopped doing it.
What have Jen and Stan always told you? "Try to learn
patience, Alex. "
It wasn't his best-known virtue. But then, he'd learned
a lot the last few months. Remarkable how it focused your
mind, when you guarded a secret that might mean the end
of the world.
He glanced toward his friend and former mentor, Stan
Coldman, who had set up this appointment with the chairman
of Tangoparu Ltd. Apparently unperturbed by his employer's
tardiness, the slender, aging theoretician was
immersed in the latest issue of Physical Review.
No hope for distraction there. Alex sighed and let his
eyes rove George Hutton's office one more time, hoping to
get a measure of the man.
Of course the conference table was equipped with the
4 DAVIDBRIN
best and latest plaques, for accessing the World Data Net.
One entire wall was taken up by an active-events screen, a
montage of real-time views from random locations across the
Earth--zeppelins cruising above Wuhan . . . sunrise in a
North African village . . . the urban lights of any city in
the world.
Original holographic sculptures of mythical beasts
shimmered by the entrance to the suite, but nearest the desk
were Hutton's dearest treasures, minerals and ores collected
over a lifetime grubbing through the planet's crust--including
a huge blood zircon, glittering on a pedestal just below
the Maori war mask. It struck Alex that both objects were
products of fiery crucibles--one mineral, the other social.
Each denoted resilience under pressure. Perhaps this said
something about George Hutton's personality, as well.
But then, perhaps it meant nothing at all. Alex had
never been a great judge of people. Witness the events of the
last year.
With a sudden click and hum, the hallway doors parted
and a tall, brown man appeared, breathing hard and coated
with perspiration.
"Ah! You made yourselves at home. Good. Sorry to
keep you waiting, Stan. Dr. Lustig. Excuse me, will you? I'll
only be a moment." He peeled a sweaty jersey off broad
shoulders, striding past a window overlooking the sailboats
of Auckland harbor.
George Button, I presume. Alex thought as he lowered