"Paul McAuley - Interstitial" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

by an implacable leucocyte. The cuff knocked Echo to the floor. He ricocheted back up, and before he
could wipe his bloody nose was caught in the back of the neck by Captain Achilles and pushed on.

"You will do your job and you will do it well," Captain Achilles said, "and you will do it without smart
chat or asking damn fool questions. I'll make the family proud of you yet."

"They'll weep c-crocodile tears and forget me as soon as I've been recycled."

"Survive this, you'll be a hero. You owe me big, little brother. Just for once, you'll be doing a real man's
job."

"C-can I at least ask if we are at war?"

"Not yet. Soon. We've already pulled a move on that pirate's nest of slant eyes and traitors, and if we're
lucky they'll try and retaliate. Then we'll be at war. Meanwhile, Dave, you've been selected for special
duties."

A phrase which jammed an icicle in Echo's heart. Soldiers loved special duties. It meant high danger and
almost certain death. It was the one thing that techs tried to avoid at all costs. He said, "Let me guess.
We've taken Little Tokyo from the Copernicus Alliance."

"Who told you that?"

"I worked it out just this minute."

"Yeah?" Captain Achilles clearly didn't believe this. "You're in the army now, bro. No need to think."

Echo said, "Thinking is what I do for a living. I'm right, aren't I?"

"We took it fifty hours ago, and secured the perimeter. It's ours, bro. There's stuff they missed, and that's
why worms like you are needed. This is a chance to make the family look good, Dave boy. A chance to
redeem yourself."

"I'm needed for defense work. That's more important than some special op."

"I know what you were working on. Those old pop-up radar-guided missiles? Last ditch stuff we will
never need because we are strong and we will keep the enemy far below the horizon at all times. This is
special, bro, this will make you famous."

Captain Achilles shoved Echo through a pressure curtain into the brilliant glare of a staging lock. It was
almost completely filled with a dozen soldiers in p-suits, and the coffin-shaped metal boxes which
contained their gear. The soldiers all gave Echo the cold eye, as if wondering exactly what his guts might
look like, and where would be the best place to draw them out. This was the Greek crew, Captain
Achilles' command, with names like Perseus, Andromeda, Jason and Alexander stitched to the breasts of
their p-suits. Most likely, they were already running their combat programs, and Echo tried to avoid
making eye contact as, cold and miserable, he climbed into his borrowed suit. It was ill-fitting, the
extension joints at elbows and knees loose and baggy, and it stank. The left knee joint was stiff and gave
him a comical limp; the helmet visor was scuffed, and half the functions were redlined.

Echo hooked up his backpack, and followed the soldiers through the airlock into a bus. Captain Achilles