"David Gerrold - Chtorr 3 - A Rage for Revenge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

we're clear now? You're here because you want to be here. There is nobody in this room who does not
want to be here?"
He smiled. "Good. Now, let's talk about what happens after you make a commitment: the opportunity to
break your word. . . ."

?
A fellow who lived in West Perkin
was always a;jerkin' his gherkin.
Said he, "It's not fickle
to play with my pickle.
At least my gherkin's a workin'."
?
? 3?
The Dome

"The game of life is always called on account of darkness."
--SOLOMON SHORT

The day had turned gray and drizzly, and the March wind was whipping coldly into our faces.
I peered at the map on the screen. Yes, this was it. I poked the kid and pointed. "Bear to the right."
He did so. We pulled off the main highway and onto a frontage road. He handled the Jeep with an easy
assurance. It was obvious that the kid liked driving.
But it bothered me that he was so young.
Everywhere I went these days, I found children handling the jobs of adults. They were getting younger
every day. And less well trained. I didn't like the implications of that either.
Childhood was another casualty of the war. There wasn't time to be innocent any more. As soon as you
could take your place in the work force, you did. There were six million "most-urgent" jobs waiting to be
filled. Age was not a consideration.
It made me feel old.
The kids I met now didn't seem to know that the world hadn't always been like this. They carried guns
instead of schoolbooks; they learned to handle rocket launchers before they learned to drive. They spent
as much time at work as they did at school-and maybe that was all for the good; maybe they shouldn't
know what had been lost. Maybe this way would be easier for them. Certainly it was more practical.
I tightened my windbreaker against the chill. "I thought this place was supposed to be warm," I yelled.
"It is," the kid hollered back. "This is the frozen warmth that we have every winter."
"Oh."
The Jeep bumped across a pothole and I gave up the attempt at conversation. The map showed we were
almost there anyway: At the end of February, the president had signed into law the Military Jurisdiction
Bill.
Which effectively finished the job of dismantling the last functioning local governments in the country, and
replaced them with district military governors. This was a temporary measure, the president said, only for
the duration of the ecological emergency.
Which meant anywhere from ten to three hundred years. However long it took.
The president also signed the Universal Service Bill-which effectively drafted every man, woman, child,
robot, and dog in the nation into the United States Armed Forces. The long-range plan was to restructure
the social fabric of the country-from polyester to khaki.
"The Chtorran invasion," the president had said, "is nothing less than a concerted attack on every single
one of us; therefore, it is the responsibility of every single one of us to resist."
I remembered the speech. It was the "each and every" speech. The president had begun by quoting an
obscure World War I doughboy named Martin Treptow. "I will fight cheerfully and do my-utmost, as if