"James P. Hogan - Giants 1 - Inherit The Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

extracting enough information to generate a 3-D color hologram, visually
indistinguishable from the original solid. Moreover, since the beams scanned
right through, it was almost as easy to conjure up views of the inside as of
the out. These capabilities, combined with that of high-power magnification
that was also inherent in the method, yielded possibilities not even remotely
approached by anything else on the market. From quantitative cell metabolism
and bionics, through neurosurgery, metallurgy, crystallography, and molecular
electronics, to engineering inspection and quality control, the applications
were endless. Inquiries were pouring in and shares were soaring. Removing the
prototype and its originator to the USA -- totally disrupting carefully
planned production and marketing schedules -- bordered on the catastrophic.
Borlan knew this as well as anybody. The more Hunt turned these things over in
his mind, the less plausible the various possible explanations that had at
first occurred to him seemed, and the more convinced he became that whatever
the answer turned out to be, it would be found to lie far beyond even Felix
Borlan and IDCC.
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice issuing from somewhere in the
general direction of the cabin roof.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Mason speaking. I
would like to welcome you aboard this Boeing 1017 on behalf of British
Airways. We are now in level flight at our cruising altitude of fifty-two
miles, speed 3,160 knots. Our course is thirty-five degrees west of true
north, and the coast is now below with Liverpool five miles to starboard.
Passengers are free to leave their seats. The bars are open and drinks and
snacks are being served. We are due to arrive in San Francisco at ten thirty-
eight hours local time; that's one hour and fifty minutes from now. I would
like to remind you that it is necessary to be seated when we begin our descent
in one hour and thirty-five minutes time. A warning will sound ten minutes
before descent commences and again at five minutes. We trust you will enjoy
your journey. Thank you."
The captain signed himself off with a click, which was drowned Out as
the regulars made their customary scramble for the vi-phone booths.
In the seat next to Hunt, Rob Gray, Metadyne's chief of Experimental
Engineering, sat with an open briefcase resting on his knees. He studied the
information being displayed on the screen built into its lid.
"A regular flight to Portland takes off fifteen minutes after we get
in," he announced. "That's a bit tight. Next one's not for over four hours.
What d'you reckon?" He punctuated the question with a sideways look and raised
eyebrows.
Hunt pulled a face. "I'm not arsing about in Frisco for four hours. Book
us an Avis jet -- we'll fly ourselves up."
"That's what I thought."
Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index,
consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a directory.
Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed it silently to himself
as he tapped it in. A copy of the number appeared near the bottom of the
screen with a request for him to confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen
went blank for a few seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color,
which stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde, who
radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste commercials.