"Edward M. Lerner - Part I of IV - A New Order of Things" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lerner Edward M)

"Of ten lifeboats, only seven launched successfully. None but this vessel remains. In deep space, the
interstellar drive exhibits an unexplained variability. Telemetry and analysis to follow."

But the only further information sent ahead, as lifeboat three transformed into an eruption of pure energy,
was by the imprinting of its one-time velocity into the blue shift of gamma rays.
****
CHAPTER 1

Art tried to take life one day at a time, but sometimes several days conspired to attack him at once.

Two messages tagged with the highest possible priority code reached him moments apart, and at a
spectacularly inconvenient time. He'd never received a communication of that urgency; his habit, at times
when others simply disabled their neural infosphere interfaces, was to block traffic below the threshold he
privately termed TEOTWAWKI.

The end of the world as we know it.

He was thirty meters behind the power boat, intent on mastering a skill easily within the capabilities of a
modestly coordinated ten-year-old. A modestly coordinated Earth-reared ten-year-old, anyway.
Exercise and a nanotech-enhanced skeleton only went so far ... Art's reflexes remained those of a native
Martian, raised in gravity scarcely one-third standard. But wasn't the purpose of a vacation to try new
things?

White knuckled, he clutched the wooden handle of the tow rope. His skis slap-slapped over the swells
that had from inside the boat appeared the merest of ripples. In jaw-clenched acquiescence to gestured
encouragement from the boat, he was, at the instant the first alarm buzzed inside his head, sliding down
the outside edge of the vee-shaped wake.

Startled, Art let dip the tip of one ski. The water ripped the ski off his foot. From the stern of the boat,
the resort's spotter shouted advice. Improbably, Art got the bare foot safely to the rear of his other ski.
Route to voicemail, he ordered his implant as he wobbled.

Then the second call came. The remaining ski slewed out from under him and went flying. Momentum
propelled him forward even as the boat throttled back. Time slowed to a crawl as the lake surface rose
up inexorably to smack him. Belatedly, he released the tow handle.

He was bobbing in the water, kept afloat by his life jacket, when the launch circled back. "You okay,
Art?" called the spotter. "Arthur? Dr. Walsh!"

Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the physical world. "I'm fine. A bit surprised is all." Only when he
tried to dog-paddle to the launch did Art notice the improbable bend in his right forearm. He tipped his
head at the ladder just hung over the boat's side. "Mind giving me a hand up? My arm seems to be
broken."

Wincing with each wave the boat hit as it sped him to the pier, he began placing his own infosphere calls.
They were rated TEOTWAWKI, too.
****
While Art's grandparents and parents, like most Martians, showed little interest in pre-immigration
genealogy (dubbed "ancient history"), his great-grandparents claimed roots from across Europe. His
appearance supported their assertions. He had classical Mediterranean features and body build--this trip