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

world.
About a mile farther on and halfway down to the valley floor, he came to
the checkpoint where the road passed through the outer perimeter fence of
ACRE. A black Army sergeant, in shirtsleeves but armed and wearing a steel
helmet, walked forward from the barrier as Clifford slowed to a halt beside a
low column. Nodding his acknowledgment to the guard's perfunctory "'Morning,"
Clifford extracted the magnetically coded card from his pass folder, inserted
it into a slot in the front of the box that surmounted the column, and handed
the folder to the guard. Then he pressed the ball of his thumb against the
glass plate located adjacent to the slot. A computer deep beneath ACRE's
Administration Block scanned the data fed in at the checkpoint, checked it
against the records contained in its files, and flashed the result back to
another soldier who was seated in front of a display console inside the
guardhouse. The sergeant returned the pass folder to Clifford's outstretched
hand, cast a cursory glance around the inside of the vehicle, then stepped
back and raised his arm. The Cougar moved through and the barrier dropped into
place behind.

Fifteen minutes later, Clifford arrived at his office on the third floor of
the Applied Studies Department of the Mathematics & Computer Services
Building. On the average, he spent probably not more than two days a week at
ACRE, preferring to work at home and use his Infonet terminal, which gave him
access to the Establishment's data bank and computers. On this occasion he
hadn't been in for eight days, but when he checked the list of messages on his
desk terminal, he found nothing that was especially pressing; all the urgent
calls had already been routed on to his home number and dealt with from there.
So no unexpected panics to worry about before his eleven-o'clock
meeting.
No sooner had he thought it, when the chime sounded to announce an
incoming call. He sighed and tapped a button to accept.
"Clifford."
The screen showed a momentary frenzy of color, which stabilized almost
immediately into the features of a thin, pale-faced individual with thinning
hair and a hawkish nose. He looked mean. Clifford groaned inwardly as he
recognized the expression of righteous and pained indignation. It was Wilbur
Thompson, Deputy to the Deputy Financial Controller of Mathcomps and self-
appointed guardian of protocol, red tape, and all things subject to proper
procedures.
"You might have told me." The voice, shrill with outrage, grated on
Clifford's ears like a hacksaw on tungsten carbide. "There was absolutely no
reason for you to keep quiet about it. I would have thought that the least
somebody with my responsibilities could expect would be some kind of
cooperation from you people. This kind of attitude doesn't help anybody at
all."
"Told you what?"
"You know what. You requisitioned a whole list of category B equipment
despite the fact that your section is way over budget on capital procurement
for the quarter, and without an SP6 clearance. When I queried it, you let me
go ahead and cancel without telling me you'd gotten a priority approval from
Edwards. Now the whole thing's a mess and I've got everybody screaming down my