"James P. Hogan - Giants 5 - Mission to Minerva" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

actually taking to this stuff."

"About time, too. Beats that fizzy yellow concoction. Too sweet. I'm not sure
I like the connotations of Clydesdales, either."

"The bartender asked me if I wanted them mixed with ale. Is that normal in
England too?"

"Black and tan," Hunt replied, nodding.

"Oh, really?"

"Half and half. That's what they call it. It was the name of the auxiliary
military units the English used in Ireland back it the time of the Troubles .
. . around 1920, or whenever it was. They had uniforms that were half police
and half army."

"Wasn't it two different countries there until not long ago?"

"Right. The North originally stayed with the UKтАФwhen the rest became the
Republic."

"What was all that shit about? I never could figure it."

Hunt shrugged. "Usual thing, Jerry. Too many Catholics. Too many Protestants.
No Christians." He looked away while he took another sip. A girl called Julie,
who worked in one of the administration sections at ASD, had come in with two
others that he didn't recognize. Jerry carried on.

"Anyway, Vic, as I was saying, this scheme that the guys are buying into. . .
. People are working less, retiring sooner, and when the family's grown and
gone and they move to a smaller house that's paid for." He made an open-handed
gesture. "They've got money. The spendable income isn't with the kids anymore.
By the time they leave school half of them are maxed out on credit already."

Jerry was a former employee of the intelligence agencies. The spy business had
contracted markedly as the world gradually resolved a legacy of
twentieth-century political absurdities by allowing people to live among those
they chose to. Having banked a lump severance payment, and finding himself
less than enamored by the thought of returning to the corporate style of
workplace, he was constantly on the lookout for investment opportunities to
provide the wherewithal for preserving the ease and freedoms that a period of
enforced paid leave had led him to grow accustomed to. The latest was a plan
for a chain of theater-restaurants with lounge bars and dance floors to cater
to the more mature clientele. It was an interesting thought, Hunt had to
agree. There were probably thousands of such couples, or singles wanting to be
half a couple, hidden away in the suburbs with nowhere to go that suited their
taste. At just over forty himself, Hunt could go for it.

"I've always wanted to own a nightclub," he said. "I like the image. It must