"James P. Hogan - The Genesis Machine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

The Genesis Machine -- James P. Hogan

(Version 2002.04.02 -- Done)


Every child is a born scientist.
This book is dedicated to DEBBIE, JANE, and TINA -- the three young
scientists who taught me to distinguish reality from illusion by asking
always:
"Who says so?"
"Who's he?"
and, "How does he know?"


Chapter 1

The familiar sign that marked the turnoff from the main highway leading
toward Albuquerque, some thirty or so miles farther north, read:

ADVANCED COMMUNICATIONS RESEARCH ESTABLISHMENT
GOVERNMENT PROPERTY
ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONS
SHOW PASSES -- 1 1/2 MILES AHEAD

Accompanied by the falling note of a barely audible electric whine, the
Ford Cougar decelerated smoothly across the right-hand traffic lane and
entered the exit slipway. Without consciously registering the bleeped warning
from the driver's panel, Dr. Bradley Clifford felt the vehicle begin
responding to his touch as it slipped from computer control to manual drive.
The slipway led into a shallow bend that took him round behind a low sandy
rise, dotted with clumps of dried scrub and dusty desert thorn, and out of
sight of the main highway.
The road ahead, rolling lazily into the hood of the Cougar, lay draped
around the side of a barren, rock-strewn hill like a lizard sunbathing on a
stone. In the shimmering haze beyond and to the right of the hill, the rugged
red-brown bastions that flanked the valley of the Rio Grande stood row behind
row in their ageless, immutable ranks, fading into layers of pale grays and
blues that blended eventually with the sky on the distant horizon.
The road reached a high point about halfway up the shoulder of the hill,
and from there wound down the other side to commence its long, shallow descent
into the mouth of the barren valley beyond, at the far end of which was
situated the sprawling complex of the Advanced Communications Research
Establishment. At this time of the morning, the sun shone from the far side of
the Establishment, transforming the jumble of buildings, antenna towers, and
radio dishes into stark silhouettes crouching menacingly in front of the
black, shadowy cliffs that marked the head of the valley. From a distance, the
sight always reminded Clifford of a sinister collection of gigantic mutant
insects guarding the entrance to some dark and cavernous lair. The shapes
seemed to symbolize the ultimate mutation of science -- the harnessing of
knowledge to unleash ever more potent forces of destruction upon a tormented