"Paul Levinson - Loose Ends (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levinson Paul)

the next 23 years in normal time here, and devise a new plan to
thwart the explosion. Thiokol Chemical Corporation had been
awarded the NASA contract to build the shuttle's solid rocket
boosters on November 20, 1973 -- just about 10 years from where
he was now -- so if he could hang on for a decade, he might even
be able to begin doing some good then. Leroy Day had been
picked to head planning for the shuttle in 1969, a few years
nearer.
But this didn't seem appealing. Ten years, even five, was a
long time to stay out of trouble. And he couldn't even be sure
that the Artificial Worm Hole would remain operational that
long. The most their tests had confirmed was safe return after
18 months in the past.
He of course knew exactly what else he might try to do on
this date. He knew its obvious significance. He didn't have to
be a cultural historian by training to know it. Jeez, he'd
arrived at the edge of the oldest cliche in the science fiction
CD. Everyone and their great-aunt Martha had written a story
about it.
What was the likelihood that some error in the team's
calculations, some unexpected flux in the AWH, had landed him
here on this of all dates? Maybe it wasn't an accident that
he'd somehow been dropped at the doorstep of what _Time_ nearly
a century in his past and 37 years from now had dubbed one of
the top five murders of the millennium.
But if so, what was its deeper purpose?
Surely not to stop the events in Dallas tomorrow -- there
really wasn't enough time. He was in New York City, after
midnight, on November 22, 1963. Way too soon for Challenger.
All but too late for JFK.
All but too late ... But what else could he could do back
here, then? What else had he perhaps been _meant_ all along to
do here?
He shook his head.
Did they even have air service to Dallas this late at
night? He didn't know. What kinds of planes? Propellers? No,
probably jets already.
Dallas was a thriving city even back in the 1960s, and at
the very least he would probably be able to get a businessman's
flight early in the morning. But would that leave him enough
hours? What was the point of flying all the way to Dallas just
in time to hear that JFK had been shot?
But what was his alternative if he didn't use the AWH to
return to his starting point? Sit around like a jackass and
wait for Walter Cronkite's tear-choked voice to announce the
assassination on TV?
Blondie arrived with his tea. Fortunately it was lukewarm,
and Jeff was able to drink it down in two gulps. He pulled a
crumpled bill out of his wallet and left it on the table. Some
bank clerk in the next few weeks would be stunned to see a