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

we are on our own.
"Therefore, I will make one statement concerning official government policy. As
you know, this state of affairs will technically come to an end in about fifteen days.
At that time, the government will prosecute severely anyone connected with any
further disruptions of Federal activities. This is not merely an empty threat; it conтАФ"
A young black man ran before the camera, turning to shout an incoherent slogan.
Rev. Wilson saw the pistol in the boy's hand and stood, his face contorted with fear
and envy. "The business of America is business!" he screamed, and then dropped
back into his seat as the black militant shot. The President clutched his chest and
cried, "We must notтАж loseтАж" and fell to the floor.
The cameras seemed to swing at random, as men rushed about confusedly. From
somewhere a white man appeared, perhaps one of the technicians, with his own
pistol. He hurried to the desk shouting, "For anarchy!" and shot Dr. Wilson
point-blank. The white assassin turned, and the black assassin fired at him. The two
killers began a cautious but noisy gun battle in the studio. Here most viewers turned
off their sets. "In very poor taste," they thought.


The sign outside: "SECOND NATIONAL BANK OF OUR LORD, THE
ENGINEER. UNIVERSAL CHURCH OF GOD OR SOME SORT OF COSMIC
EMBODIMENT OF GOOD."
Above the entrance to the church fluttered a hastily made banner. The masculine
symbol had been crudely painted on a white sheet; the white flag indicated that the
worshipers were white males and that blacks and women were "welcome" at their
own risk. The population was now split into four mutually antagonistic segments.
The separate groups began to realize that there was some point in keeping their
members together in little cadres. The streets and apartment buildings were death
traps.
Inside the church the men were silent in prayer. They were led by an elderly
deacon, whose inexperience and confusion were no greater or less than any in the
congregation.
"Merciful God," he prayed, "in whatever Form the various members of our flock
picture You, corporal Entity or insubstantial Spirit, we ask that You guide us in this
time of direst peril.
"Brother lifts sword against brother, and brother against sister. Husband and wife
are torn asunder against Your holiest ordainments. Protect us, and show us our
proper response. Perhaps it is true that vengeance is solely Yours; but speak to us,
then, concerning Limited Cautionary Retaliation, and other alternatives. We would
see a sign, for truly we are lost in the mires of day-to-day living."
The deacon continued his prayer, but soon there began a series of poundings on
the door. The deacon stopped for just a second, looking up nervously, his hand
straying to his sidearm. When nothing further happened, he finished the prayer and
the members of the congregation added, if they chose, their amens.
At the end of the service the men rose to leave. They stood at the door, in no
hurry to abandon the sanctuary of the church. At last the deacon led them out. It was
immediately noticed that a yellow factsheet had been nailed to the outside of the
door. The Roman Catholics of the neighborhood had decided to end the
centuries-long schism. Why not now, when everybody else was settling their
differences? A Final Solution.
A bullet split wood from the door frame. The men standing on the stoop jumped