"Jason M. Hardy - BattleTech - MechWarrior - Dark Age 13 - The Scorpion Jar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardin Clement)

You only needed sufficient moneyтАФor a sufficient number of favors owedтАФand sufficient patience,
combined with decades of practice at standing back and taking the long view. Anyone could have done
it, given those qualities.

The next part, though, would be much harder. He had to present his mosaic in such a way that even the
dimmest Senators and Knights andтАФespeciallyтАФPaladins could see and understand the picture he
created. Not to single out any individuals, but if the truth were told, some of his comrades-in-arms had
always been more notable for courage and fighting skill than for brains.
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




So he couldnтАЩt just lay out the evidence and let the facts speak for themselves. He had to lead his
audience step by obvious step to the right conclusion. This would be his legacy to The Republic of the
Sphere, one last act performed for the sake of the dream of Devlin Stone, and it had to be done just
right. The forthcoming election could hinge on how well he did his job, on how many of the Paladins
understood what he now knew.

It was more than simply arranging the facts and ideas; he had to find the exact right words and tone, and
put everything in the right order. HeтАЩd never been much of a man for talk, and not much of a diplomat
either, although the newsreaders now called him a statesmanтАФa reward, he supposed, for having lived
so long. He was a MechWarrior first and always, and the task of moving others to his way of thinking
through convincing argument was a far different task than piloting a тАЩMech.

It was late. Eventually the words and the sentences blurred together, and Victor dozed, sitting upright in
his chair. Then he slept more deeply, as the chairтАФa marvel of modern design and medical
engineeringтАФadjusted its contours to his slumbering form.

Morning came, bringing with it daylight streaming past cracks in the closed curtains, and he woke with a
start to a cheerful voice saying, тАЬGood morning!тАЭ

Both the voice and the good cheer belonged to Elena Ruiz, the housekeeper (though he and she both
knew quite well that she was more nurse than housekeeper) who looked after his suite of rooms. She
was a pleasant sight for an old manтАЩs eyes, even in her plain white uniformтАФdark hair, olive skin, and a
face always open and ready to smile. Her greeting was followed by a blaze of light as she drew the
curtains mercilessly open, letting in the bright desert sun.

Victor responded with a good-natured grumble. тАЬWoman, they pay you to keep me healthy, not to kill
me.тАЭ

тАЬHah,тАЭ she said. тАЬYouтАЩll outlive all of us. And if you slept in your bedroom like most people, you
wouldnтАЩt have to worry about me opening the curtains in the morning.тАЭ

тАЬI was working,тАЭ he said. The display on his data screen was on and glowing, bearing out his words. He
frowned briefly. The display should have followed his lead and gone into sleep mode sometime last night.
It must have been brought back to life by some vibration or bump to the desk.

Victor shut down the file. He would work on it again later, after the coming of night once more brought
privacy. Then he turned to Elena Ruiz.