"Continuing Time - 01 - Emerald Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

parenting license. She seems apolitical, aside from her personal habits.Ф
УBy which you mean?Ф
УMonsieur, she lives in Occupied America, among a proud people who have been,
hmm, conquered? Conquered. An apparent distaste for the United Nations might be
expedient.Ф
УNot when dealing with the United Nations purse strings.Ф
УO№i. As you say.Ф
УWhat of Malko Kalharri?Ф
УWhat of Kalharri?Ф AmnierТs aide seemed to find the question amusing. УSir, I
think there is very little I can tell you which you do not already know about
Colonel Kalharri.Ф

With a shower of gamma rays I came into existence at the fast end of time.
A wind was raised with my appearance in the empty corridor. Had there been any
to observe, they would have heard the sharp crack created as air was moved aside
at greater than the speed of sound, and might have felt a brief warmth. Those
with sharp eyes might have noticed a shadow in the fraction of an instant before
I moved away from the spot of my appearance. They would not have seen any more
of me. Even at my end of time they would have seen little to note; a human,
dressed all in white, from the boots on my feet to the white cowl that covered
my head. Even with the visual distortion that is unavoidable when time is sped
so drastically, men of their century would have found the lack of focus upon the
surface of a white shadow cloak a striking thing.
Of course they were not in fast time, nor could be.
I began trudging through the air, toward my destination. The corridor was almost
entirely dark; flashes of ultraviolet light marked the passage of X-rays, each
flash illuminating the corridor like a small lightning. The normal visible
spectrum was shifted too deeply into the radio to be of use to me.
I was in a hurry, pushing through the resisting atmosphere, and I am a man
unaccustomed to hurrying; but I was being closely followed by an enemy who had
promised to cut my heart out and eat itЧand I rather believed Camber Tremodian
would do just exactly that, given the chance.
I did not intend to give him the chance. At the fast end of time I hurried
through the slow air.

Monday, December 11, 2029; the United Nations Advanced Biotechnology Research
Laboratories, in New Jersey.
He arrived from Capital City just before eight oТclock; security let Darryl
Amnier into Suzanne MontignetТs office more than two hours early. They were
uneasy, doing it.
But they did it nonetheless.
He sat behind her desk, in her chair, with the lights dimmed. A small man, with
paper-white hair and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that made him look far
older than he was, he found MontignetТs chair slightly too high for his taste.
He did not readjust it. Her office had no window, which pleased him to the
degree that he ever allowed himself to be pleased. A crank with a rifle was that
much less likely to bring three quarters of a million Credit UnitsТ worth of
research grinding to a halt with a single shot.
The dщcor was standardized, little different from what Amnier had seen in over
twenty other research installations in the last four months. Amnier was not