"Kim Stanley Robinson - Mars 1 - Red Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

Frank stared at his old friend, nonplussed. What to believe? He had never known
how to think of JohnтАФthe way he had used Frank as a springboard, the way he was so
friendly. . . hadn't they begun as allies, as friends?

It occurred to him that John was looking for Maya. тАЬSo where is she?тАЭ

тАЬAround somewhere,тАЭ Boone said shortly.

It had been years since they had been able to talk about Maya. Now Boone gave
him a sharp look, as if to say it was none of his business. As if everything of importance to
Boone had become, over the years, none of Frank's business.

Frank left him without a word.

###

The sky was now a deep violet, streaked by yellow cirrus clouds. Frank passed two
figures wearing white ceramic dominoes, the old Comedy and Tragedy personas,
handcuffed together. The city's streets had gone dark and windows blazed, silhouettes
partying in them. Big eyes darted in every blurry mask, looking to find the source of the
tension in the air. Under the tidal sloshing of the crowd there was a low tearing sound.

He shouldnтАЩt have been surprised, he shouldn't. He knew John as well as one could
know another person; but it had never been any of his business. Into the trees of the park,
under the hand-sized leaves of the sycamores. When had it been any different! All that
time together, those years of friendship; and none of it had mattered. Diplomacy by other
means.

###
 He looked at his watch. Nearly eleven. He had an appointment with Selim. Another
appointment. A lifetime of days divided into quarter hours had made him used to running
from one appointment to the next, changing masks, dealing with crisis after crisis,
managing, manipulating, doing business in a hectic rush that never ended; and here it was
a celebration, Mardi Gras, Fassnacht! and he was still doing it. He couldn't remember any
other way.

He came on a construction site, skeletal magnesium framing surrounded by piles of
bricks and sand and paving stones. Careless of them to leave such things around. He
stuffed his coat pockets with fragments of brick just big enough to hold. Straightening up,
he noticed someone watching him from the other side of the siteтАФa little man with a thin
face under spiky black dreadlocks, watching him intently. Something in the look was
disconcerting, it was as if the stranger saw through all his masks and was observing him
so closely because he was aware of his thoughts, his plans.

Spooked, Chalmers beat a quick retreat into the bottom fringe of the park. When he
was sure he had lost the man, and that no one else was watching, he began throwing
stones and bricks down into the lower town, hurling them as hard as he could. And one for
that stranger too, right in the face! Overhead the tent framework was visible only as a faint
pattern of occluded stars; it seemed they stood free, in a chill night wind. Air circulation
was high tonight, of course. Broken glass, shouts. A scream. It really was loud, people