"Quantum Leap - Prelude" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

"Personally, I would prefer to have the water treated in either case," Hsuieh-lung riposted. "Proper utilization of resources, however, demands the factory."
"Do you agree, Sam?" Whitsunder demanded. "You're being awfully quiet."
"Yeah, what's this 'patron saint' business?" Shelby followed up. "Are you a Nonluddite?"
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. References to the Prize, or his own fame, always made him uncomfortable, particularly from the scientists he regarded as his peers. He knew many of them, especially the older ones, were jealous; he wanted to think that the ones closer to his own age were more supportive, but he knew that wasn't true, either. He found himself being very quiet in conversations rather than remind others of his expertise in so many different fields, gained in the same period of time others had taken to gain mastery of only one. Lack of practice in social conversations with fellow scientists often made him appear awkward.
Before he could answer, however, Hsuieh-lung interjected, "Sam has the academic backgroundЧsix doctorates, isn't it?Чand the notoriety, with the Nobel Prize. Besides, he's young and personable, a former child prodigy, and looks good on the cover of Time. His personal beliefs are of no consequence. According to yesterday's Wall Street Journal, his achievements should be every thinking man's aspiration." The man smiled thinly at Sam and folded his napkin neatly beside his plate. "You're a symbol, nothing more. Your active cooperation with the group would probably be appreciated, but isn't in the least necessary."
"I'm not sure I'm all that comfortable being a symbol," Sam objected, feeling heat creep up his face. "Especially when I don't share those ideas." He couldn't figure out why Hsuieh-lung kept pushing; he wished the other man would stop.
"What, you're a back-to-nature enthusiast?" Shelby challenged, changing sides with blinding speed.
"No, I'm not. But there has to be a way to achieve the technology and the industry and the jobs and not completely destroy that old-growth forest in the process."
"Old-growth forest, old-growth ideas. You might consider at least meeting with the Nonluddites, Sam; they might surprise you." Hsuieh-lung glanced at his watch, a gleaming gold Rolex. "If you'll excuse me, please, I must go. It has been a most enjoyable interlude." With that he stood, extracted three ten-dollar bills from his wallet, tossed them on the table, and left, before they could even offer to shake hands.
"That guy is weird," Whitsunder said. "And cheap, too. That salmon was twenty-seven ninety-five, and with the tax it doesn't leave much for a tipЧ"
"It probably killed his per diem," Shelby remarked. "So, you're a hero to the Nonluddites, Sam. How does it feel to be a hero?"
"I'd rather be a hero to my budget coordinator," he answered. All three men laughed, and conversation moved on to another subject, much to Sam's relief.
That afternoon Sam had another meeting, with yet another federal agency, the one Dreasney had suggested. This one was willing to listen to him, which made him a trifle nervous to begin with; he was reminded of the old Groucho Marx joke about not wanting to belong to any club that would have him as a member. But they had money to spend, and liked the idea of the computer, and were impressed by his credentials. They promised to review the proposal. When he left, late that evening, he felt that he had at last the real beginnings of a net Project.
He stood on the steps of a nondescript office building anil breathed deep, enjoying the fresh air, the relative quiet of post rush hour, and a bubbling feeling of delight. He was going to do it. He was going to build it. He was, even if his sponsors didn't know it, wouldn't believe it, going travel in Time itself. He was going to be able to see what really happened. All the confusions, all the mistakes, all tie uncertainties would vanish. He could actually be there and see what happened.
Whether the government believed it or not.
He had one more thing to take care of before going back to New Mexico and getting together with AlЧthe first step toward building the team. A new team, handpicked. He'd find what's-her-name, that ditzy redhead, Martinez-O'Farrell, to design the computer architectureЧshe was brilliant if you could get her out of the mall long enough. And Gooshie from Star Bright could program anything, and he was bored with his current job.
Sam grinned. The computer he was planning would cure any programmer of boredom, and probably give him nightmares to boot. He couldn't wait to spring the design on all of them.
Perhaps it was the broad grin that attracted the attention of the young blond man coming up the steps. In any case the man changed direction and approached Sam directly.
"Dr. Beckett?" he said, holding out his hand. There was no real inquiry in his voice. The immediate neighborhood was empty; Sam's car was parked across the street in a parking garage, and a few people walking across a lawn several hundred yards away were the only others in sight.
Brought back to the here and now, Sam blinked and shook hands automatically. "Er, yes?"
"I'm Chris Jancyk, Dr. Beckett, from the News. Perhaps you saw my profile of the Democratic committeemen last month? Or the study of the Washington subway system? That one ran last year."
"I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "I'm afraid I didn't see either one."
Chris Jancyk smiled, showing perfect teeth. "That's quite all right, Dr. Beckett. I do understand." And he did, in fact, because there had never been any profile or study, at least not under his byline. "Do you have a few minutes, sir? I'm a great admirer of your work."
"Ah ..." Sam was vastly uncomfortable, as always around reporters. He couldn't help but wonder, in an Indiana farmboy sort of way, why on earth people thought he was so interesting. His work was interesting, but he was just another scientist... .
"Just a very few minutes, sir. A couple of questions for a sidebar in our series on new developments in physics."
Sam's eyebrows knit. "I'm afraid I couldn't give you anything new."
"Then perhaps a new slant on old material. If you don't have any plans, in fact, I could buy you dinner."
Sam paused. He did have one more task to fulfill, but it wasn't one he particularly looked forward to. On the other hand he didn't much want to go out to dinner with this man; he had a gut feeling that there was something fishy about him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'd like to, but I have other commitments."
"It wouldn't take more than an hour or so," the other man coaxed. "And there are some people who'd really like to meet you." He was standing too close. "I've promised to set it up."
That did it. Reporters were rarely interested in facilitating! meetings. There was something wrong here. But he was polite.
"Not this time," Sam said firmly. "I'm sorry, but I really do have other things to do right now."
Jancyk nodded understandingly. "I understand. Could you give me a telephone number?"
"Oh, sure." Sam reached into his suit coat pocket, fumbling for the cards his new sponsor had given him. He was looking away from Jancyk; he never saw the gun butt that smashed into his left temple.
He was spinning into a featureless globe of blue-white light glowing with pain. No, he thought. This isn't right. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. I've got something to do. I'm almost there. It can't go wrong now.
Somewhere else, far away, sirens screamed, and Chris Jancyk I stared panicked at what he had done. The sirens came closer. Jancyk cursed and ran away, leaving the crumpled body of a world-famous physicist crumbled in a spreading pool of blood on the marble steps.

CHAPTER
FOUR

"What do you mean, you hit him?" Yen Hsuieh-lung snarled. "Why?"
It was dark now. The night breeze, coming through the screened window, did little to relieve the sullen heat of the day. It stirred the dull-gold curtains and touched at the backs of the necks of the people who met in a certain room of a certain building, unremarkable on a side street in Georgetown.
"He wasn't going to come with me," the man who had called himself Chris Jancyk protested. "I was going to, to knock him out, to make him come. But I heard sirens and I thoughtЧ"
"You're a fool and an idiot," the scientist said. "You're the son of fools and the father of fools. What made you think it was so essential that he come tonight?"
The others in the room nodded to themselves.
"But you said he had to meet with us before he left Washington. You sent me to bring him hereЧ"
"You can't convince a man like Beckett by violence, and now you've destroyed our opportunity to persuade him by reason. You're a liability to the entire movement." Yen Hsuieh-lung was seated in an antique chair, his knuckles white against the polished wood. The others in the room, two men and a woman, kept well apart from him and the object of his anger.
"I did what I thought was best at the time!" Jancyk was sweating, his body jerking as if the urge to pace were nearly irresistible. His hands moved in wide gestures, unrelated to his words.
"The fact that you could not think of anything better is all the proof we need of your incompetence." The more tightly coiled Jancyk became, the quieter Yen Hsuieh-lung was in response, and the more the audience edged away.
"What are you going to do to me?" Jancyk challenged looking from the Chinese-American scientist to the other in the room. They stared back at him silently, letting Ye Hsuieh-lung act as their spokesman.
"Do? We shall do nothing," he said. "Violence is your means of expression, not ours. But we have no use for you any longer. Go away, and don't come back."