"Keith Laumer & Eric Flint - Future Imperfect" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

face resting in a black paste of bloodied dust, lots of dustcaked blood on his shirt front.
He was wearing a neat, dark suit, now dusty, new-looking shoes with almost unscratched
soles. His age might have been anything from thirty-five to fifty. His eyes were open and
a film of dust had already dimmed their shine. One hand was outflung, still holding the
gun. I picked it up, looked it over absently. It was a Spanish automatic, nickel-plated. I
tossed it aside, went through his coat pockets, found nothing except a small rectangle of
paper stating that the garment had been checked by Inspector 13. Maybe that had been a
bad omen. But then maybe he had not believed in omens.
His pants pockets were as empty: no wallet, no identification. He was as anonymous
as a store-window dummy. And he had tried, without warning and without reason, to kill
me on sight.
***
Back inside the store, the man with the broken legs lay where I had left him, staring
toward me with glass eyes in a skull face.
"I met your friend," I said. My voice sounded strange in my ears, like an
announcement beyond the grave.
"You're all right," he gasped.
"He wasn't very smart," I said. "Perfect target. He shot at me. I didn't have much
choice." I felt my voice start to shake. I was not used to killing men.
"Listen," the skull-face said. "Get out nowтАФwhile you can. There'll be more of
themтАФ"
"I killed him," I said. "One shot, one dead man." I looked down at the gun at my hip.
"The world is coming apart and I'm killing men with a gun." I looked at him. "Who was
he?"
"Forget him! Run! Get away!"
I squatted at his side. "Forget him, huh? Just like that. Get in my car and tootle off,
whistling a merry tune." I reached out, grabbed his shoulder, not gently. "Who was he?" I
was snarling between my teeth now, letting the shock work itself out in good healthy
anger.
"You. . . . wouldn't understand. Wouldn't believeтАФ"
"Try me!" I gripped harder. "Spit it out, sailor! What's it all about? Who are you?
What were you doing here? Why was he after you? Why did he shoot at me? Who was
he?"
"All right," he was gasping, showing his teeth. His face was that of a mummy who
had died in agony. I'll tell you. But you won't believe me."
***
"It was almost a year ago," he said. "I was on satellite duty on Sheppard Platform
when the first quakes hit. We saw it all from up thereтАФthe smoke on the day side and the
thousand-mile fires at night. They gave the order to evacuate the stationтАФI never knew
why."
"Pressure from Moscow," I told him. "They thought we were doing it."
"Sure. Everybody panicked. I guess we did, too. Our shuttle made a bad landing
southwest of Havana. I was one of three survivors. Spent a few days at Key West; then
they flew me in to Washington. Hell of a sight. Ruins, fires, the Potomac out of its banks,
meandering across Pennsylvania, the Washington Monument sticking up out of twenty
feet of water, the capitol dome down, a baby volcano building up where Mount Vernon
used to beтАФ"
"I know all that. Who was the man I shot?"
He ignored me. "I gave my testimony. No signs of enemy activity. Just nature busting
loose like nineteen hells. There was some professor thereтАФhe had all the facts. A hell of