"Jack McKinney - Robotech 06 - Doomsday" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

salvaged from the ruined ships that dotted the landscape.
But there was tension in the air on this particular day. Unused to a life without war,
some of the aliens were beginning to question the new life they had chosen for themselves.
Utema was one of these. A massively built red-haired Goliath who had served under Breetai,
he had worked in New Macross for eighteen months, first assembling steel towers in the Micronian
population center, then here, scouring the countryside for usable materials. But on one of these
forays, he had stumbled upon an encampment of former warriors who had abandoned the Micronian
ways, and ever since he had harbored an anger he could not articulate. An urge to...destroy
something-anything!
His eyes had seized on one of the factory trucks parked in the fenced-in yard, a harmless
tanker truck used for the transport of fuels. He approached it now and booted it, experiencing a
long-lost thrill as the toy vehicle exploded and burst into flames.
Laborers at their work stations inside the factory heard Utema bellow:
"I quit! I can't stand it! I quit! This is stupid!"
The explosion had rekindled his rage. He stood with his fists clenched, looking for
something else to demolish, ignoring the protests of his giant coworker. The two had faced off.
"It's worse than stupid-it's degrading!" Utema roared. "I've had enough!"
Violently, he side-kicked a stack of dressed logs, a guttural cry punctuating his swift
move.
"Shut up and don't interfere," he warned his companion. "I'm leaving!"
The second giant made no move to stop Utema as he stepped over the chain-link fence and
headed off toward the wasteland. Two others had arrived on the scene, but they too let him walk.
"But where are you going?" one of them called out. "Utema-come back! You won't survive out
there!"
"It's you that won't survive!" Utema shouted back, pointing his finger. "War! War is the
only thing that will save us!"

At a supper club in Monument City, Minmei, wearing a gauzy blue dress that hung off one
shoulder, stood in the spotlight, accepting the applause. It was nowhere near a full house, and,
disappointed by the turnout, she hadn't put on her best show. Nevertheless, those few who had been
able to afford tickets applauded her wildly, out of respect or politeness, she couldn't be sure.
Perhaps because most of her fans rarely knew when her performance was off-she was her own most
demanding critic.
The light was a warm, comfortable curtain she was reluctant to leave.
Kyle was waiting for her backstage in the large and virtually unfurnished dressing room,
leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking sullen and angry. He was dressed in jeans and a
narrow-waisted jacket with tails. She could tell he'd been drinking and wondered when he would go
into his Jekyll and Hyde number again. No doubt he'd caught all her off notes, tempo changes, and
missed words.
"Hi," she greeted him apologetically.
"That was terrible," Kyle snapped at her, no beating around the bush tonight. It was going
to be a bad evening, perhaps as bad as the night he had kicked a bottle at her.
"Sorry," she told him mechanically, heading straight for the dressing table, seating
herself on one of the velour stools, and wiping off makeup.
Kyle remained at the wall.
"I'm worried about that charity concert tomorrow-if it goes like this."
"I'll be okay," she promised him, looking over her shoulder. "There were so few people
tonight that I was really taken by surprise. Don't worry, I'll be all right tomorrow."
"This is a high-class club," Kyle persisted. "We let our patrons down."
She sighed. He wasn't going to let go of it. She couldn't do anything right anymore. He