"Michael McCollum - Gibraltar earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

We will, of course, arrange a memorial service for Miss Rykand at the time and place of your choosing.
There is also the matter of her standard insurance policy. I believe you are the beneficiary.тАЭ

тАЬDamn it, IтАЩm not interested in her insurance. I want to know what happened!тАЭ

тАЬAs I said, sir, I donтАЩt have that information at this time. Perhaps in a few weeks--тАЭ

The screen rattled on his desk as he slammed his fist onto the cutoff plate. He sat trembling before the
darkened screen for nearly a minute before Moira came in to see what the noise had been.

тАЬWhatтАЩs the matter?тАЭ she hissed upon seeing his expression.

тАЬJani is dead.тАЭ

тАЬOh, no, Mark! It canтАЩt be true.тАЭ

тАЬIt is. That call was from survey headquarters. Sorry to inform you, Mr. Rykand. No, we do not know
anything else, Mr. Rykand. Sorry, but the body will not be returned, Mr. Rykand-- тАЭ

MarkтАЩs voice evaporated as his body was wracked with sobs. A moment later, he found himself cradled
in MoiraтАЩs arms. She stroked his hair and cooed to him softly. It did not help. The old foreboding was
back. He could not shake the feeling that this time his loneliness was permanent.

#

Mark Rykand watched the endless procession of vineyards sweep past as the bullet car soared between
successive electromagnetic accelerator rings in its usual gravity defying flight. This part of northern
Switzerland was especially beautiful with its green hills and whitewashed houses slipping past at an easy
200 kph. Normally he would have been enchanted by the view. Not today. This morning he felt drained -
emotionally, physically, mentally, morally. The human body has only a finite capacity for strong emotion
and he had used up his full quota in the previous twenty-four hours. The only trace left was a pale anger,
a mere shadow of the rage that had threatened to consume him during the dark hours before sunrise.

The bullet car topped a rise to reveal the blue expanse of Lake Constance in the shallow valley below.
White sails were silhouetted against the dark blue of the lake. The view was a brief one. Soon the car
dipped behind a low hill as it followed its line of pylons and accelerator rings. The lake flashed into view
one last time. On the far shore, the glass-and-steel pyramid shape that was the headquarters of the Stellar
Survey seemed as large as the distant Alps. The building fluoresced gold as early morning sunlight
reflected off the eastern flank of the pyramid. A moment later, the lake, its boats, and the pyramid on the
far shore were gone as the car hurtled into the black maw of the tunnel that would take it across to the far
shore.

MarkтАЩs anger had been unfocussed at first. He had raged at an uncaring universe that had robbed him of
his entire family in the short span of three years. Yet, shaking oneтАЩs fist at the stars is not very satisfying.
Society taught that when a person dies, someone is to blame. The culprit might be a criminal, the drunken
flyer of an aircar, or even the victim himself (if he dies of a heart attack after a life of dissolution).

Until he knew the details of JaniтАЩs death, it would be impossible to assess blame. The more he thought
about the duty officerтАЩs refusal to tell him how his sister had died, the angrier he became. How dare they
keep such vital information from her only relative?