"Crawford Killian - The Empire of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Killian Crawford)

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Pierce recognized him at once, though they had never met. The young man was a
tall, heavyset, shaggy blond and tailored denims and a white silk shirt; an agate
bolo tie glinted under his short beard. He was Philon Richardson, a Trainable
Climber from Los, born 985 BC in Thrace, of Dorian stock. Tested four years
ago at age sixteen, and brought uptime with his equally Trainable sister for his
education. Took his Trainer's family name, as did most Climbers. Under Philon's
foppish appearance was still a hint of the arrogant warrior-thug he would have
become if the Agency had not tapped him: a barbarian princeling, carousing in
the ruins of Nestor's palace. Instead, he had become a twenty-first-century
organization manтАФan errand boy nowтАФbut he was destined to wield more
power with his fichewriter than his father ever dreamed of wielding with a
sword. Still, it was interesting that anything at all was left of Philon's
background. The psychoconditioners knew then- job.

They greeted each other with a nod. Accustomed to high-speed data acquisition
through the flickreader, Trainables found normal speech tedious; among
themselves they spoke elliptically, or else imbued normal speech with irony and
ambiguity. On this occasion, as relative strangers surrounded by a crowd of
unTrainables, courtesy dictated the latter form of speech.

"Good morning, Mr. Pierce. Welcome home."

"Good morning, Philon. Thank you; it's good to be back."

They strolled through the crowd to the escalators. The only lingering effect of
the freeze, so far as Pierce could tell, was a slight euphoria.

"Wigner must be eager to see me."

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"Very eager, Mr. Pierce."

"Too bad. I was hoping to catch up on my sleep before reporting in."

Philon smiled sympathetically and made amiable small talk: the clammy New
York winter weather, the latest Agency gossip, the nasty new flu virus that had
slipped in from one of the Paleolithic chronoplanes and taken 150,000 lives in
the past month, mostly in the slums of Rio, Sao Paulo, and Asuncion. Pierce said
little, nodding absently.