"Eric Flint & Marilyn Kosmatka - Time Spike" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

Andy flipped his radio to the maintenance channel. The static on the radio drowned out everything
except one word.Generator power.

"Just what we need." Andy looked at Joe. "Better check before we let anyone go home."

Joe nodded toward Rod. "Go out to the parking lot and get everyone hanging around out there through
the metal detectors. I want them all inside the walls, now. And let the afternoon shift know, no one leaves
till I say so."



James Cook sat on the top bunk of his cell, his home for the next many years. He wanted to cry, but
didn't dare. If a guard saw any tears, and decided to do his job, that could land him in the psychologist's
office and probably chained to a bed in suicide watch. It'd be even worse if one of the prisoners saw him
crying.

Suicide. The coward's way out.His mother, her eyes cold and knowing, had stared into his own when
she told him that. She wanted him to come home no matter what price he had to pay to do it.

His friends hadn't been so afraid of that. They thought they knew him. He was tough. He could handle
himself. He would have to bash a few heads, the red man always had to do that in prison, but he would
be okay. But when they said those things, they hadn't looked him in the eye. Instead, they had looked at
his wiry frame and suggested he start lifting weights right away. They didn't think he should wait until he
was convicted. Just in case.

He had taken their advice. Just in case. But he hadn't bulked up much. He had the wrong body type for
that. Still, he was stronger and his endurance was up. He just hoped he didn't need either. He was no
fool. He was no match for two or three men looking for a fight and a little fun.

For that matter, unless he had an edge, there was no way he could handle even one of these huge
mothers. The big ones hanging over the rail, whistling and calling out "fresh meat" as the new fish were
walked from the processing area to their cells had left his mouth dry and feeling as though it was full of
cotton.

He knew he wouldn't commit suicide. But just the same, he wasn't sure he would make it home to his
mother. He mightтАФprobably wouldтАФget killed. He had already made up his mind. He would be no
man's cocksucking bitch. He would die fighting if it came to that. If he couldn't die then, he would die
later, when he went looking for revenge.

Cook forced himself to take a few deep breaths. So far things had gone better than he had hoped. While
being processed, his roommate had been a blond-haired, blue-eyed kid from the streets of Chicago. The
boy had spent half his life institutionalized in one form or another. Foster homes, county jails, juvenile
detention centers. He'd done them all. This was his first trip to an adult prison, but he was already
hooked up and doing a booming business for hispapa. Since the sharks were being well fed, Cook and
the other fish had had a relatively easy job staying out of trouble. As for his new roommate, his
permanent roomie, he was a white man in his mid-fifties who made it plain he was doing his own time. He
wouldn't be trying to dish anything out, but he also wasn't willing to give a fish any help.

Cook was grateful for that. If the man had offered to help, it wouldn't have been for free. There was no
such thing as out of the goodness of your heart in a maximum security prison. He had been warned about