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

aisles dividing the chairs into neat pie-shaped wedges. The aisles pointed toward the high dais like an
altar. I felt like an acolyte at some holy ritual.
The screens over the dais were gone now. Instead there were larger ones mounted high above the center
of each blank wall. As I took my seat, I wondered why they had changed the setup. It bothered me, I
didn't know why. I felt uneasy.
The seats filled up quickly with the other trainees. Today we were all wearing identical brown jumpsuits.
No uniforms, no civilian clothes, no identifying garb of any kind could be worn in the training room. That
was part of the rules: no outside identities. All we had to distinguish ourselves were the large-lettered
name tags we wore over our hearts; last names only-no first names, no ranks.
Some of the higher-ranking officers had grumbled about that. Foreman hadn't been interested. He merely
pointed out that they were demonstrating an investment of identity in their ranks, and that rank was not
only irrelevant in here, it would eventually get in the way. Leave it outside, he said. That's not who you
really are. I didn't get that either, but Foreman wouldn't explain it.
I wished I had my watch, but we'd had to turn those in too. I was certain that it was already past time for
us to start, but not all the seats were filled yet. I wondered what the holdup was.
I craned around to look. People were still filing in. I recognized the two gray-haired colonels who had sat
at the end of my row yesterday and who seemed to think they had special permission to chat about the
proceedings. Finally, because their chatter was such a nuisance, they had been asked-no, told to sit
apart. They came in now, still talking; but instead of moving directly to their seats, they stopped just
inside the door and continued their conversation. I decided they were a couple of rude old ladies. Finally,
two large male assistants came over to them and took each of them by the arm and guided them to their
seats-on opposite sides of the outer circle of chairs.
But there were still empty chairs. Where were the rest of us? I counted twelve empty chairs. What was
going on? Where were the missing trainees?
The minutes stretched.
The assistants stood quietly at attention, all around the perimeter of the room, at the logistics tables, at the
doors, and at the heads of the aisles. There were at least fifty of them, all blank-faced and emotionless.
Across the circle from me, a large heavyset man got up and strode angrily to the table at the back of the
room where the Course Manager sat. "What's the delay?" he demanded. His face was ruddy, and he
looked upset.
She looked at him blankly. "Go back to your seat." Her voice could be heard all across the room.
"I want to know what's going on."
"Nothing is going on. Go back to your seat."
"We were told that all our questions would be answered," he snapped.
The Manager stood up and faced him. He was much larger and wider than she was, but she met his glare
with an impassive expression. She said, "What you were told was that all of your questions would be
handled appropriately. This is not appropriate."
"Why not?" he interrupted her. "Tell me!" He put his large ham-shaped hands down on the table between
them and leaned way forward. He looked like he was used to bullying his way to results. He was a
hulking mountain of flesh, and the way he leaned, he looked like he was threatening her.
It didn't work. The Course Manager was unbending. She could have been looking at a recalcitrant child.
"This isn't the time," she said. "You agreed to follow the instructions, didn't you? Your instructions for this
morning were to enter the room and take your seat. Have you done that?"
"But nothing's happening-!" His technique wasn't working. He looked frustrated.
She looked at him blankly. "Are you going to keep your agreement and follow the instructions?"
"I want to know what the delay is!" He was getting loud and belligerent. Every trainee in the room was
watching.
I had to admire the Manager's composure. She remained unruffled by the man's anger. She said, "All of
this was explained yesterday. The session doesn't begin until everybody is in his seat. There are thirteen
seats empty. One of them is yours. You are the delay."