"Jack McKinney - Robotech 03 - Homecoming" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

Nobody appeared inclined to stop them, and most were laughing too hard,
anyway. They dashed off in a line, Konda leading, around a corner and down a
street, around another corner and across to a park, making sure not to bump into
anybody.
"Frat initiation," someone said sagely.
"Another bunch of drunken performance artists!" an old man yelled, waving
his cane at them vengefully.
But other than that, they drew a few puzzled glances and nothing more.
Konda had spotted an illuminated symbol whose meaning they'd learned on their
earliest explorations, the little stick-figure Micronian near the lighted sign,
MEN.
The attendant was standing outside, whiling away the time and watching the
people go by. He watched as Konda and Rico dashed into the men's room, not
terribly interested; he'd seen guys in a bigger hurry in his time. Then he heard
the pounding of heavy footsteps and did a classic double take as Bron brought up
the rear.
The picture of offended righteousness, the attendant held up his hand.
"Just a second, madam! Nothin' doin'! Ladies' room to th' left!"
"Okayokayokay!" Bron veered off and ran into the ladies' room.
There were a few relatively quiet moments, during which the attendant
looked up at the evening sky synthesized by the EVE system-tonight they were
recreating a northern hemisphere summer sky-and reflected on the sorry state of
the human race. Women in the mens' room! Boy, if you weren't on your toes every
minute...
Distracted, wandering to the corner of the little building to look up and
philosophize, he failed to notice the dim cries of "A man!" "Get out!" and
"Pervert!" that came from the ladies' room along with shrieks and howls of
outrage.
Bron emerged from the ladies' room a moment later in a low crawl, the
shoulder of his blouse ripped, hair askew, and face scratched in parallel
furrows, several spots on his shins promising remarkable bruises.
Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath, slumped against a
partition, preparing to move on quickly before he was attacked again.
"These...Micronians certainly have a warlike culture!"

Elsewhere in the park, in the Star Bowl-the open-air amphitheater where
Minmei had been crowned Miss Macross-a different sort of ceremony was about to
take place.
None of it fazed Max Sterling very much-few things seemed to-but Ben
wasn't happy. "Hey, Max, I thought we were supposed to be resting and relaxing."
Max adjusted his large aviator-style eyeglasses, smiling his serene,
mischievous smile. "Aw, what's the matter? Don't you want to be a hero? Didn't
you say you were looking forward to it?"
 Ben considered Max sourly. Now, here was this little guy-not even twenty
yet-who wouldn't even be flying in one of the old-time wars. In prewar days,
pilot candidates who needed corrective lenses were as sought after as those with
untreatable airsickness.
And then there was Max's self-effacing style, his quiet, somehow Zen
humility, which wouldn't have been noticeable except that he was the hottest
pilot who'd ever climbed into a Veritech, and everybody knew it. Not Rick