"Stephen Goldin - The Eternity Brigade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

current troubles would be at his fingertips.

But the probe didn't come. Hawker stood in his place, muscles tensed,
but nothing happened for almost a minute. Then there was a string of
profanity uttered by someone in front of him. Most of it was in a language
Hawker couldn't understand, but he was fluent enough in the art of
imprecation to recognize the pattern perfectly. Annoyed that they'd
changed procedures on him again, Hawker opened his eyes to face reality
once more.

He had to blink, at first, at the brightness of the room. All around him
he could sense his fellow resurrectees reacting in a similar fashion. There
were rumblings and muttered curses, the rustling sounds of small
movements multiplied hundreds of times. There was an acrid smell in the
air, a smell of something burning, perhaps something that had once been
alive. Despite the burning, though, the room was cold and Hawker was
naked. That was the part he disliked most. He had long ago given up being
self-conscious about his bodyтАФmost of his comrades were from races that
didn't care how naked humans looked, anywayтАФ but he hated the feeling
of vulnerability that came with the lack of clothing. Anything covering his
bodyтАФbe it as simple as a toga or as complex as a personal force
fieldтАФwould make him feel safe, but this nudity was uncomfortable.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he took in his surroundings with
a professional detachment. He was standing in a crowd of other
resurrectees, perhaps as many as two hundred. A third of them were
humans, male and female, the rest of various races. All were oxygen
breathers, all were from planets with similar gravities and environments.
Little details like these could tell an experienced soldier like Hawker more
about the situation than his superiors would have guessed possible.
 He knew, for example, that the world he'd be fighting on was basically
Earthlike; he could breathe and move around without too many
restrictions, which was at least a small blessing. The mixture of races
made it seem more like a civil war than a war of expansion or conquest; in
the latter, high command preferred to use platoons that were
homogeneous because it was easier to instill in them a feeling of racial
antagonism. In a mixed group like this it was counterproductive to stir up
feelings of alien prejudice.

Since high command had gone to the trouble of selecting members of
races that could survive in the same habitat, Hawker knew that this was
likely a battle on a relatively small scale. For larger actions they would all
be issued battle suits of one kind or another, suitable for creatures from
any environment. There was also the implication that this side was losing
the battle, or at least poorly equipped. High command would seldom
select a ragtag bunch like this unless there was no other choice.

He reached these conclusions without conscious thought. He had
fought so many battles in so many wars that the conditions of fighting
were second nature to him. It hardly mattered any more; nothing did.