"George Alec Effinger - All the Last Wars at Once" - читать интересную книгу автора (Effinger George Alec)

At the top of the page was the familiar, fisted Women's Lib symbol. In regulation
incendiary rhetoric below it, a few paragraphs explained that it had been decided by
the uppermost echelon to strike now for freedom. During the period of severe
disorientation, women the world over were taking the opportunity to beat down the
revisionist male supremist pigs. Not just the oppressed racial minorities can express
their militancy, it said. The female popular liberation front knew no color boundaries.
Who did they think they were kidding? Stevie thought.
"You're gonna get plugged by some black bitch, you know that?" he said. He
looked up at her. She had a gun pointed at him, aimed at his chest. The buzz in his
head grew louder.
"You wanna put that sheet back on the pile? We don't have enough to go
around," she said.
"Look," said Stevie, starting to move toward the car.
The girl raised the pistol in a warning. He dove to the ground, parallel to the car,
and rolled up against the right front wheel. The girl panicked, opening the door to
shoot him before he could get away. Stevie fired twice before she sighted him, and
she fell to the grassy shoulder. He didn't check to see if she was dead or merely
wounded; he took her pistol and got in the car.


"My fellow Americans." The voice of the President was strained and tired, but he
still managed his famous promiseless smile. The picture of the Chief Executive was
the first to disturb the televisions' colored confetti snow for nearly two weeks.
"We are met tonight to discuss the intolerable situation in which our nation finds
itself. With me this evening"тАФthe President indicated an elderly, well-dressed Negro
gentleman seated at a desk to the left of the President'sтАФ"I have invited the Rev. Dr.
Roosevelt Wilson, who will speak to you from his own conscience. Rev. Wilson is
known to many of you as an honest man, a community leader, and a voice of
collaboration in these times of mistrust and fiscal insecurity."
Across the nation, men in dark turtlenecks ran down searing channels of flame,
liberated television sets in their gentle grasp, running so that they might see this
special telecast. Across the nation men and women of all persuasions looked at
Wilson and muttered, "Well, isn't he the clean old nigger!"
Rev. Wilson spoke, his voice urgent and slow with emotion. "We must do
everything that our leaders tell us. We cannot take the law into our own hands. We
must listen to the promptings of reason and calmth, and find that equitable solution
that I'm sure we all desire."
The TV broadcast had been a major accomplishment. Its organization had been a
tribute to the cooperation of many dissatisfied men who would rather have been out
liberating lawn furniture. But the message of these two paternal figures of authority
was more important.
"Thank you, Dr. Wilson," said the President. He stood, smiling into the camera,
and walked to a large map that had been set up to his right. He took a pointer in one
hand.
"This," he said, "is our beleaguered nation. Each green dot represents a
community where the violence that plagues us has gone beyond containable limits."
The map was nearly solid green, the first time the United States had been in that
condition since the early seventeenth century. "I have asked for assistance from the
armed forces of Canada, Mexico, and Great Britain, but although I mailed the
requests nearly two weeks ago, I have yet to receive a reply. I can only assume that