"c241" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

3:58 P.M., Monday, February 21, 2000
Halifax, Nova Scotia

Sam paced in front of the cell, his boots crunching on the stone floor of the jail as he walked and spun around. The base jail, where the CyberCorps MPs had put them after being turned over from the Halifax police, was entirely Y2K compliant, having been built near on a century ago and lacking anything as modern as computer controlled doors. Iron and stone worked perfectly in every millennium. The cells sat empty except for Morgan and Nate. Mostly it played hotel to drunks. It was suitably cold and drafty that Nate thought longingly of his farmhouse. Confinement gave him greater angst about finding Amber; the hardness of the iron bar reminding him all the more of the softness of her hair. The smell of old vomit versus the faint smell of her perfume. "What the Sam Hill did you boys think you were doing?" Sam asked. "I don't think the Lord himself can get you out of this one. Unauthorized absence, breaking and entering, theft, forgery, insubordination, and you had to try to fix software on top of it all. As God is my witness, I doubt you'll be out of here before the year three thousand." Morgan opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, I just don't want to hear it. Every time you boys open your trap you dig yourselves deeper." Nate felt sorry he'd dragged Morgan into this. "Look, it's not—" "Shh!" Sam waved his hands. "...Morgan's fault," Nate whispered. "I'll do what I can," Sam growled as he left. Morgan sat down with a thump on the metal bunk. "Wonder if we get paper and pens in here. I've got to let Desiree know what..." He trailed off. "I suppose I could use blood and write on my shirt, but I'm not sure how I'd mail that. Other than that, this isn't so different from the barracks." Nate spun around. "Damn it! Would you quit acting so fucking cheerful! Quit always making the best of things, man!" "What's your problem?" Morgan seemed taken aback. "You're the one who goes around saying how Programmers are Golden right now. I figure we're looking at a year or two. What do you want, me to start ragging on you for getting us into this mess? You think I'm not pissed as hell at you? At myself? But what good's that going to do? I shouldn't've listened to that crap about birthday passes. But I wanted out, I asked for it. Pissing and moaning won't help us, so just buck up. My little baby's barely alive and there's no miraculous twentieth-century medicine anymore. You think that doesn't tear me up? But what can I do about it? I can't wave a wand and restore civilization, I can't become a doctor and I can't get out of this shithole. It was idiots like me who wouldn't listen five years ago that got us in this mess. My baby wouldn't even be born yet if I hadn't been an idiot. But what can I do about it? I've just got to buck up and do what I can. So get off my back about it!" They stewed in their cell for hours, until an MP brought dinner. Then they stewed until lights out. Nate would glance over, but Morgan would either be lying back with his eyes closed, or if they made eye contact, Morgan glowered at him. Nate felt even more terrible than before. In some sense, however, he felt better with Morgan angry at him. He needed to be felt angry at. Through Morgan's fury Nate worked out his own problems. His own resentment toward Amber seeped away; he resolved to be less selfish around her; to replace those empty voids with positive warmth. Surely she would want to do the same. If only he could find her. They went to sleep in silence.

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Chapter 24.1

3:58 P.M., Monday, February 21, 2000
Halifax, Nova Scotia

Sam paced in front of the cell, his boots crunching on the stone floor of the jail as he walked and spun around. The base jail, where the CyberCorps MPs had put them after being turned over from the Halifax police, was entirely Y2K compliant, having been built near on a century ago and lacking anything as modern as computer controlled doors. Iron and stone worked perfectly in every millennium. The cells sat empty except for Morgan and Nate. Mostly it played hotel to drunks. It was suitably cold and drafty that Nate thought longingly of his farmhouse. Confinement gave him greater angst about finding Amber; the hardness of the iron bar reminding him all the more of the softness of her hair. The smell of old vomit versus the faint smell of her perfume. "What the Sam Hill did you boys think you were doing?" Sam asked. "I don't think the Lord himself can get you out of this one. Unauthorized absence, breaking and entering, theft, forgery, insubordination, and you had to try to fix software on top of it all. As God is my witness, I doubt you'll be out of here before the year three thousand." Morgan opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, I just don't want to hear it. Every time you boys open your trap you dig yourselves deeper." Nate felt sorry he'd dragged Morgan into this. "Look, it's not—" "Shh!" Sam waved his hands. "...Morgan's fault," Nate whispered. "I'll do what I can," Sam growled as he left. Morgan sat down with a thump on the metal bunk. "Wonder if we get paper and pens in here. I've got to let Desiree know what..." He trailed off. "I suppose I could use blood and write on my shirt, but I'm not sure how I'd mail that. Other than that, this isn't so different from the barracks." Nate spun around. "Damn it! Would you quit acting so fucking cheerful! Quit always making the best of things, man!" "What's your problem?" Morgan seemed taken aback. "You're the one who goes around saying how Programmers are Golden right now. I figure we're looking at a year or two. What do you want, me to start ragging on you for getting us into this mess? You think I'm not pissed as hell at you? At myself? But what good's that going to do? I shouldn't've listened to that crap about birthday passes. But I wanted out, I asked for it. Pissing and moaning won't help us, so just buck up. My little baby's barely alive and there's no miraculous twentieth-century medicine anymore. You think that doesn't tear me up? But what can I do about it? I can't wave a wand and restore civilization, I can't become a doctor and I can't get out of this shithole. It was idiots like me who wouldn't listen five years ago that got us in this mess. My baby wouldn't even be born yet if I hadn't been an idiot. But what can I do about it? I've just got to buck up and do what I can. So get off my back about it!" They stewed in their cell for hours, until an MP brought dinner. Then they stewed until lights out. Nate would glance over, but Morgan would either be lying back with his eyes closed, or if they made eye contact, Morgan glowered at him. Nate felt even more terrible than before. In some sense, however, he felt better with Morgan angry at him. He needed to be felt angry at. Through Morgan's fury Nate worked out his own problems. His own resentment toward Amber seeped away; he resolved to be less selfish around her; to replace those empty voids with positive warmth. Surely she would want to do the same. If only he could find her. They went to sleep in silence.


back | next home