"Jerry Pournelle - High Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

"Well, I'm not really a biologist, and there's not a lot of management work here at the Station.
Dr. MacKae leaves most of that up to Santa Barbara."
I've noticed, Adams thought. He looked at the girl, wondering if she could learn the important
points about Nuclear General operations. She did all right with the technical stuff, and Mike King
would have to stay here at the Station. She might be good company.
They glided expertly to the landing. The reactor domes were invisible a thousand yards away, and
the Station was a low series of concrete rectangles along the reef, much of it extending down into
the lagoon itself. There was almost no land, and everything had to be attached to the reefs,
anchored deep with aluminum pilings to protect it from tsunamis and typhoons. A natural fortress,
Adams thought.
Living quarters were made of fiberglass, constructed like the thatch and frond houses of Polynesia
but using artificial fibers. They could be taken below into the concrete blockhouses if a real
storm threatened, and they were much more pleasant to live in.

Adams took his supper alone, served by Mike King in his rooms. He'd met no one, not even Art
Martinez, and he wanted it that way. When he put down his fork, he realized he didn't even know
what he'd eaten, and it was probably a special meal. Well, there'd be time enough for the social
amenities later. Now he was as ready as he'd ever be.
"Who all's there?" he asked.
Mike King blushed slightly. Staff men assigned to Bill Adams never lasted long - when Adams wanted
to know something, you'd better be ready with an answer or know how to find it. And you could
never tell what he'd want to know because Adams himself didn't know what would be significant.
Mike had spent as much time as he could talking to anyone he could find, but as sure as anything
it wouldn't be enough. Working with Adams was good experience, but Mike would be glad when the
troubleshooter moved on.
"Dr. MacRae, Dr. Martinez, that I know of," Mike said. "And Courtney Graves. Dr. MacRae said if
you were going to have an assistant at the conference then by the white Christ-that's what he


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said, sir-he'd have one there too."
Adams exploded in laughter. "And what about the Tonganese?"
"Prince Toki Ukamea, the Prime Minister, is at the Station, sir. With a couple of members of the
Privy Council. But he's out looking at the reactors so you can have a word with the others alone
as you wanted."
"Good." Adams's tone was so noncommittal that Mike King looked at his superior closely, but he
couldn't tell what the man was thinking. The hidden amusement was gone from the grey eyes, and
King didn't envy the people who'd got Mr, Adams so upset.
The conference room was underwater, concrete walls paneled in rich woods framed with sea shells,
an enormus rainbow trout stuffed and mounted on one wall. Another wall was completely glassed to
show the dark waters of the lagoon outside. Several large fish and one of the inevitable dolphins
swam dartingly just outside the conference room.
Dr. David MacRae was a tall, elderly man who spoke with a thick, broad Scots accent mixed with
something unrecognizable, and he sucked endlessly on a meerschaum pipe carved into the shape of a
dolphin. Adams shook hands with the Director, and let his mental filing system bring up the
important facts. MacRae, licensed reactor operator, master of arts in marine biology from
Wellington University, New Zealand, honorary Ph.D., Edinburgh. Reactor physics courses at Nuclear
General's own schools. With the Company over fifteen years, mostly in overseas posts. Apprentice