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

manufactury. His faint reflection appeared in a pair of bulky walker boots.
Opinions vary. Yes, a lot of people had underestimated John
BooneЧChalmers had done it himself many times. An image came to
him of John in the White House, pink with conviction, his disobedient
blond hair flying wildly, the sun streaming in the Oval Office windows and
illuminating him as he waved his hands and paced the room, talking away
while the President nodded and his aides watched, pondering how best to
co-opt that electrifying charisma. Oh, they had been hot in those days,
Chalmers and Boone; Frank with the ideas and John the front man, with a
momentum that was practically unstoppable. It would be more a matter of
derailment, really.
Selim el-Hayil's reflection appeared among the boots.
"Is it true?" he demanded.
"Is what true?" said Frank crossly.
"Is Boone anti-Arab?"
"What do you think?"
"Was he the one who blocked permission to build the mosque on
Phobos?"
"He's a powerful man."
The young Saudi's face twisted. "The most powerful man on Mars,
and he only wants more! He wants to be king!" Selim made a fist and
struck his other hand. He was slimmer than the other Arabs, weak-
chinned, his moustache covering a small mouth.
"The treaty comes up for renewal soon," Frank said. "And Boone's
coalition is bypassing me." He ground his teeth. "I don't know what their
plans are, but I'm going to find out tonight. You can imagine what they'll
be, anyway. Western biases, certainly. He may withhold his approval of a
new treaty unless it contains guarantees that all settlements will be made
only by the original treaty signatories." Selim shivered, and Frank pressed;
"It's what he wants, and it's very possible he could get it, because his new
coalition makes him more powerful than ever. It could mean an end to
settlement by non-signatories. You'll become guest scientists. Or get sent
back."
In the window the reflection of Selim's face appeared a kind of mask,
signifying rage. "Battal, battal," he was muttering. Very bad, very bad.
His hands twisted as if out of his control, and he muttered about the Koran
or Camus, Persepolis or the Peacock Throne, references scattered
nervously among non-sequiturs. Babbling.
"Talk means nothing," Chalmers said harshly. "When it comes down
to it, nothing matters but action."
That gave the young Arab pause. "I can't be sure," he said at last.
Frank poked him in the arm, watched a shock run through the man.
"It's your people we're talking about. It's this planet we're talking about."
Selim's mouth disappeared under his moustache. After a time he
said, "It's true."
Frank said nothing. They looked in the window together, as if judging
boots.
Finally Frank raised a hand. "I'll talk to Boone again," he said
quietly. "Tonight. He leaves tomorrow. I'll try to talk to him, to reason
with him. I doubt it will matter. It never has before. But I'll try.