"Lackey, Mercedes - Born To Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

But planning ahead in case things did go wrong was what had made Sam one of the best in his field.
УOr so I like to tell myself,Ф he said aloud, smiling at his own conceit.
The doorbell rang, and Sam reached automatically for the modified TV remote-control that, through the intervention of an old Commodore microcomputer, handled gadgets throughout the house. The poor old thing was useless even as a game machine these days, but it was perfectly adequate to mute the radioЧor take pictures of the young man and his car before Sam even reached the door. He made his way to the door with a shade of the limberness of his youth, and opened it, catching the stranger in a УlisteningФ pose that told Sam the man had been trying to catch the sound of his own approaching footsteps.
УDoctor Kelly?Ф The man at the door was illuminated by the powerful floodlight Sam had used to replace the ridiculous little phony carriage-lamp that had been installed there. And he was a very young man, much younger than his deep voice had suggested. He nodded in a noncommittal fashion and the man continued. УI'm TannimЧwe had an appointmentЧФ
He was carrying a dark leather folder. Sam first took in that, then the wild mop of curly hair, cut short in front and long in the back, the way a lot of kids on MTV cut theirsЧa dark nylon jacket, with a good shirt underneath, and a soft scarf instead of a tieЧdark slacks, not jeansЧbootsЧthe first impression was reasonable. But not exactly fitting the image of a corporate recruiter. The face was good; high cheekbones, determined chin, firm mouth, fine bone-structure and curiously vulnerable-looking eyes. The kid looked like a lot of the hotshot young engineers Sam worked with. But not like what Sam had been expecting.
УI remember,Ф Sam replied cautiously. There was something about the young man that suggested trustworthiness, perhaps his eyes, or the curious sense of stillness about him; but Sam knew better than to trust his first impression. Some of the biggest crooks he had ever known had inspired that same feeling of trust. And some of them had been just as young as this man.
УCan I come in?Ф A quirky grin spread across the man's bony face, transforming the stillness without entirely removing it. УOr would you rather earn your retainer standing here in the doorway? Or would you like to go somewhere else entirely?Ф
Well, it wouldn't hurt to let the youngster in. Sam moved aside, and Tannim stepped across the threshold. Sam noticed that he walked with a limp, one he was at pains to minimize; that he moved otherwise with a cat-like grace at odds with the limp. Sam was no stranger to industrial accidents and their aftermath. This was someone who had suffered a serious injury and learned to cope with it. That moved him a little more into the УfavorableФ column, in Sam's mind. Con artists tended to emphasize injuries to gain sympathyЧcon artists tended not to get injured in the first place. УFollow me, if you would,Ф Sam said, leading the way to his office. This was going to be more interesting than he had thought.
Tannim cocked his head to one side as he entered the office, and caught what was playing softly over the speakers. The playlist had migrated to the outrщ. His eyes and his smile increased a trifle. УDoctor KellyЧI'm pleasantly surprised by your taste in music.Ф
Sam shrugged, as the Residents gave forth their own terrifyingly skewed version of УTeddybear.Ф He took his seat in the recliner behind his desk and waved at the two identical recliners in front of the desk.
But Tannim didn't take a seat; instead, he put the folder he had been carrying on the desk, and beside it, a set of I.D. cards he fanned like a set of playing cards.
УBefore we talk, Doctor Kelly, I'd like to assure you of something. Fairgrove Industries is a brand new entity insofar as the rest of the world is concernedЧbut we've been around a long, long time in the private sector.Ф Sam looked up to see that Tannim's smile had turned into a wide grin. УWe've been around a lot longer than anyone knows. I know what you've probably been thinking; that I'm a corporate raider, that I'm a front-man for industrial espionage, or that I'm looking for information on your former employer. Actually, I don't usually do this for Fairgrove, but the folks back at the plant thought I'd be the best person to approach you.Ф
УOh?Ф Sam Kelly replied. УSoЧjust what is it that this Fairgrove does that they want from me?Ф
Tannim tapped the folder with one long finger. УWe build racecars, Doctor Kelly. We have nothing to do with aerospace, and I doubt very much we'll ever be involved in that business. But you have skills we very much need.Ф
Sam looked back down at the top photo I.D., which was, unmistakably, Tannim. And listed only the single name, oddly enoughЧno initials, no first or last name. It was an SCCA card, autoclub racing, sure enough; beneath it was a SERRA card (whatever that was), an IMSA card, an I.D. card for Roebling Road racetrack, and beneath that was his Fairgrove card. That particular piece of I.D. listed him as Уtest-driver/ mechanic,Ф which Sam hadn't known was still possible. Not these days, when either profession required skill and training enough to overwhelm most ordinary people.
But Tannim didn't give him any chance to ask about thatЧhe opened the folder, and began describing just what it was that Fairgrove wanted from him, if he would take the job.
УWe need you as a consultant, Doctor Kelly,Ф he said, earnestly. УWe're working on some pretty esoteric technologies here, and we need someone with a solid background who is still flexible and open to new ideas. You were one of the best metallurgists in the country before you retiredЧand no one has ever accused you of being stuck in a rut, or being too old-fashioned to change.Ф
That surprised him further, and embarrassed him a little. He was at a loss for a response, but Tannim was clearly waiting for one. УOh, I would'na know about that,Ф he said, lapsing briefly into the Irish brogue of his childhood.
УWe would,Ф Tannim said firmly, nodding so that his unruly mop of dark, curly hair flopped over into one eye, making him look, thin as he was, like a Japanese anime character. УWe've looked very carefully at everyone who might suit us, and who could legitimately work with us without compromising themselves or their current or past employers. You are the best.Ф
Sam felt himself blushing, something he hadn't done in years. УWell, if you think soа.а.а. what's the job, anyway?Ф
УMetallurgy,Ф Tannim told him. УSpecifically, fabricating engine blocks and other high-stress parts of non-ferrous materials.Ф He flashed that grin again, from under the errant lock of hair, calling up an answering smile from Sam. УLike your music, we're on the cutting edge.Ф
УI don't know,Ф Sam replied, slowly, as Tannim finally took his seat, leaving his host free to leaf through the Fairgrove materials. Most of them had the look of something that had been produced on a personal computer, the great-great grandchild of the one that helped Sam run his house, and the cousin of the one on the workstation behind him. The specs Fairgrove had on their Уwish listФ were impressiveЧand as unlikely as any of H. G. Wells' dreams of Time Machines. УI don't know. Engine blocksЧyou're talking about a high-stress application there. You want a foamed aluminum matrix for internal combustion, with water-cooling channels, air-cooling vanes, and alloy piston sleeves? In five castings for the main block? I don't know that it's possible.Ф
УAh, but you don't know it's not possible, do you?Ф Tannim retorted. УWe aren't going to pay you on the basis of whether or not common wisdom says it's possibleЧwe're doing research. Applied research, yes, but when you do research, you accept the fact that some of your highways may turn out to be dead ends. That's life. And speaking of paymentЧФ He reached into his jacket, and pulled out an oak-tree-embossed envelope, which he laid on top of the Fairgrove folder.
Sam thumbed it open. There was a cashier's check inside, made out on his own bank, for fifteen hundred dollars. Until this moment, Sam had not entirely believed in the reality of this retainer. Now, holding it in his hands, he could find no flaw in itЧand no real flaw with what Fairgrove, in the person of this young man, proposed.
Except, of course, whether or not what they wanted was a pipe-dream, a Grail; desirable, yes, but impossible to achieve.а.а.а.
Or was it? These people certainly had a lot of money to wave around. And there were some problems you could solve by throwing money at them.
УI suppose I could take a look at this place,Ф he ventured. УI could at least see what you people have to work with.Ф
If anything, Tannim's grin got wider. He spread his hands wide. УSure! How aboutЧright now? We're all night owls over there, and it isn't that far away.Ф
Now? In the middle of the night? That wasn't an offer Sam expected. Did they expect him to come? Or did they expect him to say no?
If he showed up now, surely they wouldn't have time to put on a big display for himа.а.а. and that might be all for the best, really. He'd see things as they were, not a dog-and-pony show. As for the lateness of the hour, well, one of the advantages of being retired was that he no longer had to clock inЧand he didn't have to follow the company's time schedule. He'd always been a night owl by nature, and although this was the Уmiddle of the nightФ to some people, for him the day was barely halfway throughЧone reason why he'd set this appointment long after a УnormalФ working day had ended.
And besides all that, if he was going to take a look at this place, he wanted to see all of it. That meant the metal shops, too. This early in the fall, daytime temperatures were still in the nineties, and no matter how good their air-conditioning was, the shops would be as hot as Vulcan's forge during the daylight hours. Metal shops always were, especially if these people were doing casting work.
УAll right,Ф he said, shoving himself resolutely out of his chair. УLet's go. No better time to see this miracle place of yours than right now.Ф
УGreat!Ф the young man answered, sliding out of his chair and getting to his feet with no more than a slight hesitation for the bad leg. УWant to take my car? We've used it to test out some SERRA-racer modifications; y'know, suspension mods, rigidity, a little composite fiddling. It's street-legalЧbarely.Ф
There was something challenging about his grin, and Sam decided to take the dare. УSure,Ф he replied, taking just enough time with his remote to tell the house to run the УguardianФ program. He slipped the remote into his pocket as an added precaution; without that, no one would be able to disarm the system. Not even cutting the power would make a difference; the house had its own uninterruptable power supply, and a generator that kicked on if the power stayed off for more than half an hour. He'd installed all that during the Gulf War terrorist scare, when high-level people at a lot of industries, including Gulfstream, had been warned they might be targets for kidnapping or terrorism. He'd gotten into the habit of arming it whenever he left or went to sleep, and it didn't seem an unreasonable precaution still. Maybe he was paranoid, but being paranoid had saved lives before this.
Thoreau sighed as he saw Sam reach for his jacket. Sam reached down and ruffled the dog's ears, promising that even though УdaddyФ wasn't going to be around to beg a late-night snack from, there would be a treat when he got back. Thoreau accepted this philosophically enough, and padded alongside, providing an escort service to the front door.
There, Sam was briefly involved in locking the door, and wasn't paying a great deal of attention to the car behind him. Then he turned around.
Sam had been around hot-rodders all his life; seemed to him that for every four techies at Gulfstream who were indifferent to automobiles, there would be one who cherished the things. Now he was looking at a machine that would impress any of them. It was parked with the front wheels turned rakishly, and he made note of its distinguishing features. Dark metallic red; three antennas. Scuffed sidewalls. Dark windows. It was hardly the Уcompany carФ he was expecting.
Tannim was wearing that sideways smile of his, and thumbed his keyring. The Mustang rumbled to life, and its doors unlocked and opened a crack. Despite himself; Sam's face showed his interest in the electronic gimcrackery. Tannim gestured to the open passenger's side door with a flourish, and went around to the driver's side as Sam pulled the door open and got in.
Sam pulled the seatbelt snug as Tannim slid into the driver's side, noting as he did so, that these were not standard American windowshade seatbelts, which tendedЧin his opinionЧto allow far too much freedom of movement for safety. And as Tannim closed the driver's side door, he noted something else.а.а.а.
Something besides the door had closed, sealing them inside the protective shell of the Mustang. It had sprung into being the moment Tannim's door closed, and covered car and occupants. It wasn't tangible, like the seatbelts or the roll-cageЧit wasn't even visible to ordinary sight. But it was there, nevertheless. Tannim pushed a worn tape into the dash deck, and turned down or switched off most of the suite of other instruments thereЧthe CB, high-end channel-scanner, an in-dash radar detector, andЧwhat was this, a police-repeater sensor? Sam looked over the interior a little more, noting the various boxes in the back seat. Some more electronics gear. Hmm. There was also a trash-box stuffed with candy wrappers, a tissue box, allergy tablets, fire extinguishers mounted next to crowbars, two first-aid kitsа.а.а. and an embroidered tape-case. As he peered at it, Sam thought he could almost see words in the threads, and familiar symbols. This vehicle was not just a very unusual car; there was more to it than that. There was a great deal of power under the hoodЧand there was far more Power of a different sort infused into it.
The differences might not be visible to normal eyes, but Sam had a little more to use than what his granny had called Уouter eyes.Ф Sam had not been gifted with the ability the Irish referred to as Уthe SightФ to neglect using it, after all. Nor had becoming a man of science interfered with that. If anything, he was too much of a scientist to discount a gift that had granted him knowledge he might not otherwise have, with fair reliability, over so many years.
Interesting. Very interesting.
УSo,Ф he said, as Tannim pulled out smoothly onto the darkened highway, the headlights cutting the darkness ahead of them into areas of seen and half-seen. УTell me about Fairgrove. Why did they decide to get into manufacturing? And why nonferrous materials?Ф
Tannim fiddled with the tape deck for a moment before replying. He had put in a Clannad tape, and made a show of ensuring that the volume exactly matched that of the radio in Sam's office, stalling a little. Sam knew a stall when he saw one.
УBefore I tell you about Fairgrove, I have to explain SERRA,Ф he temporized, paying closer attention to the road ahead than it really warranted. УIn some ways, they're almost the same entity. Virtually everyone working for Fairgrove came out of SERRA, and the president and board of Fairgrove actually helped found SERRA. Uh, their families did.Ф
Sam was pretending to watch the road, but he was really watching Tannim out of the corner of his eye. And that last, about the board founding SERRA, had been a real slip. Tannim hadn't meant to say that. But what made it a slip?
УSo? What's this SERRA?Ф he asked.
УSouth Eastern Road Racing Association,Ф Tannim replied promptly, and with enthusiasm he didn't try to conceal. УIt's an offshoot of the SCCAЧSports Car Club of America. Part of the problem for us was that SCCA doesn't allow the sort of modifications we wanted, and the folks in SERRA wanted to push the envelope of sportscar racing a bit more, more 'experimental' stuff. Fairgrove also supports an IMSA team, running GTP, but that's for pro drivers, guys who don't do anything but drive, and we've only just started that circuit. Some of usЧlike meЧstill race SCCA, in fact, I drive for the Fairgrove team. There's things to like about both clubs, which is why Fairgrove still maintains a team in both.Ф
УYou don't drive in the Fairgrove SERRA team?Ф Sam said. Tannim shrugged.
УWe've got some drivers as good as I am on the SERRA team, drivers who can't race SCCA cars. Since I could do both, I opted for the SCCA team, and left rides for the other guys.Ф He grinned. УDon't worry, I get plenty of track time in! If I had the time, I could spend every weekend and most weekdays racing.Ф