"Jack C. Haldeman II & Jack Dann - High Steel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Jack C)

man was a dirtwalker by all appearances. He stood perfectly still, as if one wrong move would send him
floating away forever. His legs were tense, his feet jammed firmly in the holdtights on the floor grid. His
knees were locked. It would take a collision with a skimmer running full-bore to dislodge him.
Uncomfortable as he looked, he was hanging on every word.
"In essence, we are smack in the middle of the greatest industrial park ever envisionedтАФ" the older
man said.
John shook his head, pushed away. Soon the old man would be talking about the high moral road of
financial return, the ethics of the profit motive, and how spaceтАФby definitionтАФcouldn't be polluted. He'd
heard it all a thousand times and was sick to death of it. If he allowed them to drag him into their
conversation, he'd certainly say something wrong and get into trouble.
There was new gossip from the Belt, chatter about business interests on the Moon, but mostly talk
centered around the station they'd just finished. Everyone seemed to think it was a marvelous feat of
engineering. When set into rotation, the station would produce a graduated gravity source, with a
maximum of fifty g's at the rounded ends. It could never have been achieved on Earth. What would
eventually be manufactured there was a mystery to John: more square cities, for all he knew or cared. It
was a job, plain and simple. He was pleased that the floaters' end had worked out well; beyond that he
had very little interest.
 Two of the Trans-United brass separated from a crowd and kicked over toward him. There was no
easy way to escape. He braced himself.
"So you're John Stranger," said one of them. "I hear you're one of our best men up here."
"Do you know me?" he asked, making an attempt to be civil.
The man smiled and tapped his ear, indicating that he wore a computer plug. He turned to his
companion.
"Mr. Stranger here is an American Indian, as many of our floaters are. They work well on the beams,
seem to have no fear at all. We recruit and draft heavily from the tribes. They seem to have a, ah ...
natural ability. It's in the blood. Wouldn't you say that was true, Mr. Stranger?" He took a sniffer from his
pocket, inhaled deeply. Some sort of drug, a stimulant, most likely.
Another sweeping generalization.
John swallowed his anger. It would serve no purpose to start trouble with the brass. He'd spend the
rest of his life in servitude that way.
"Some say that," said John, instantly sorry he'd compromised himself. A cowardly action. "I'd better
get back into the dark," he added, moving away. The man caught his arm.
"Can't leave now," he said. "This party's for you, for all of you. Can't thank you enough. You men and
women are the real backbone of our operation."
The thought turned John's stomach. "I really have to be going," he said. If he didn't get out, he was
going to do something foolish. He almost didn't care.
"We're having a spin party later in the living quarters on the station when they start the rotation. Just
be a few of us. Ought to be pretty spectacular. If you're free, consider yourself invited."
"I'll keep it in mind," John said, backing away. No way he'd show up at something like that.
As he left the two men, he caught a glimpse of Anna across the room. She was talking with a young
man, a pretty whore. She met his stare arrogantly, as if they were two opposing forces, two incompatible
states of mind. She turned her attention back to the boy.
John was depressed. There were things about Anna that he felt drawn to, others that forced him
away. It was a complex feeling. It was unsettling.
He had to get out of the geodesic, back into the dark, into space. He felt closed in, trapped. It was
almost a claustrophobic feeling, a vague sense of uneasiness that brushed his heart, the pit of his stomach.
He had never felt those things before, not even in the sweat lodge. All he knew was that he had to get out
of there.
He found Sam and together they left the party, suited up. It wasn't until they left the geodesic that the
pressure lifted from John. It had been all out of proportion to the situation.