"David Gerrold - Chtorr 2 - A Day for Damnation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

to build it."
Duke said, "Are your clothes custom made?"
"Sure," I said, still initialing. "Aren't everybody's?"
"Uh huh. You take it for granted now. A computer looks at you, measures you by sight, and
appropriately proportions the patterns. Another computer controls a laser and cuts the cloth, and then a
half-dozen robots sew the pieces together. If the plant is on the premises, you can have a new suit in
three hours maximum."
"So?" I signed the last page and handed the stack back to him. He put the papers in an envelope, sealed
it, signed it, and handed it back to me to sign.
"So," he said, "if we can do it with a suit of clothes, why can't we do it with a car or a house-or a
chopper? That's what we got out of Pakistan. We were forced to redesign our production technology."
He nodded toward the window. "The factory that built that Huey was turning out buses before the
plagues. And I'll bet you the designs and the implementation plans and the retooling procedures were
kept in the same state of readiness as our Nuclear Deterrent Brigade for all those years-just in case they
might someday be needed."
I signed the envelope and handed it back.
"Lieutenant," Duke grinned at me, "you should sit down and write a thank-you note to our friends in the
Fourth World Alliance. Their so-called `Victory of Righteousness' ten years ago made it possible for the
United States to be the best-prepared nation on this planet for responding to the Chtorran infestation."
"I'm not sure they'd see it that way," I remarked.
"Probably not," he agreed. "There's a tendency toward paranoia in the Fourth World." He tossed the
envelope into the safe and shut the door.
"All right-' he said, suddenly serious. "The paperwork is done." He glanced at his watch. "We've got ten
minutes. Sit down and clear." He pulled two chairs into position, facing each other. I took one and he
took the other. He took a moment to rub his face, then he looked at me as if I were the only person left
on the planet. The rest of the world, the rest of the day, all of it ceased to exist. Taking care of the soul,
Duke called it. Teams had gone out that hadn't and they hadn't come back.
Duke waited until he saw that I was ready to begin, then he asked simply, "How are you feeling?"
I looked inside. I wasn't certain.
"You don't have to hit the bull's-eye," Duke said. "You can sneak up on it. How are you feeling?" he
asked again.
"Edgy," I admitted. "That chopper out there-it's intimidating. I mean, I just don't believe a thing that big
can get off the ground."
"Mm hm," said Duke. "That's very interesting, but tell me about James McCarthy."
"I am-" I said, feeling a little annoyed. I knew how to clear. You dump your mind of everything that might
get in the way of the mission.
"There-" pointed Duke. "What was that?"
I saw what he meant. I couldn't hide it. "Impatience," I said. "And annoyance. I'm getting tired of all the
changes in procedures. And frustrated-that it doesn't seem to make a difference-"
"And ... ?" he prompted.
"And..." I admitted, "...sometimes I'm afraid of all the responsibility. Sometimes I just want to run away
from it. And sometimes I want to kill everything in sight." I added, "Sometimes I think I'm going crazy."
Duke looked up sharply at that, but his phone beeped before he could speak. He pulled it off his belt,
thumbed it to life, and snapped, "Five minutes." He put it down on the table and looked at me. "What do
you mean?"
"Well... I'm not sure if it's even real or not. . ." I weaseled. Duke glanced at his watch. "Come on,
Jim-there's a chopper waiting for us. I need to know if you're going on it or not. What's this `crazy' stuff
about?"
"I've been having... episodes. . . ." I said.
"What kind of `episodes'?"