"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 4 - End of the Matter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

weakening our forces to the point of inviting scavengers?"
"The figures are not exact ..." the Last Resort began apologetically.
Abruptly, the President's voice cut instead of soothed: "I dislike inaccuracy where humanx lives
are concerned, Anthony,"
"Yes, sir. If we are lucky, I am told, we may hope to rescue as many as five percent."
There was silence m the tower chamber. Then the President mumbled to himself in High Thranx. Aware
that no one had heard, he raised his voice. "Set the necessary events in motion. If it were but
one percent, I would still consider the effort worthwhile."
"The problem of panic remains, sir," the Last Resort pointed out.
"We will think of a suitable excuse," the President assured him. "But this must be done. Five
percent is nearly two hundred million. Saving two hundred mil- lion lives is worth the risk of
panic. And we may be lucky and save even more."
"Science does not allow much leeway for luck," the Commonwealth -science chief muttered, but only
to himself. The President was eyeing them each in turn.
"If there is nothing else, gentlesirs?" Silence in the room. "We have much to do, then, and I have
another meeting in half an hour. This one is at an end."
At that signal, the Last Resort, the science chief, and the technician started from the chamber.
The President saw them out, using foothands in addition to all four trulegs to support himself. As
always, everything rested finally on those aged antennae, the technician thought as he was about
to bid the President goodbye. But a truhand reached out and stopped him.
"A moment, young man." The technician was nearly seventy. The President was, however, a good deal
older. "There is, of course, no way of stopping, turning, or destroying a collapsar?"
Remembering to whom he was talking, the physicist kept any sign of condescension from his voice.
"Hardly, sir. Anything we could throw at it, whether a million SCCAM projectiles or another star,
would simply be sucked in. The more we tried to destroy it, the larger it would become, though we
wouldn't notice its growth, since it would still be only a point in space. Furthermore, we already
know from measurements sent back by the first drone that this wanderer consists of much more than
a single collapsed star. Much more.
Perhaps several hundred suns." He shrugged. "Some of my colleagues believe that because of the
wanderer's speed and theoretical mass, it may be an object only guessed at by recent mathematics:
a collaxar. A collapsed galaxy, sir, instead of a single star."
"Oh" was all the President said immediately. Upper mandibles scraped at the lower pair as he
considered this information. "There is a political analogy, young man," he finally ventured.
"Something like an idea whose time has come. The more insults and arguments you throw at it, the
more powerful it becomes, until one is overwhelmed by it."
"Yes, sir," the technician agreed. "I wish all we were dealing with here was an idea, sir."
"Don't underestimate the destructive power of an idea, hatchling," the President admonished him.
He glanced at a wrist chronometer banding a truhand. "Twenty-four minutes till my next
appointment. Good day, gentlesir."
"Good day, Mr. President," the technician said; then he left the chamber.
Each of the beings who had joined briefly for the momentous meeting returned to his own task. Each
had much to do that did not relate to the subject of the meeting, and glad of it. Being busy was a
blessing. It was not healthy to dwell on the unavoidable premature death of over three billion of
one's fellow creatures.
Chapter One



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