"Rudy Rucker - The Man Who Ate Himself" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

A fast and far-out extrapolation concerning circular time, from Rudy Rucker, who has authored
three sf novels, WHITE LIGHT, SPACETIME DONUTS and SOFTWARE, and a non-fiction book,
INFINITY AND THE MIND. He lives with his wive and children in Virginia, where he is an
associate professor of mathematics at Randoph-Macon Woman's College.


The Man Who Ate Himself
RUDY RUCKER
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Harry enjoyed driving, even though he'd never managed to get a license. He had a whole theory of it, a
system of simultaneous differential equations which told he how fast to turn the wheel for a four-wheel
skid on a tight turn taken too fast. "Controlled drift" he called it.

I drew my safety belt a bit tighter. "I'm driving on the way back to the airport, Harry. I only said you
could drive on the way to Marston's. Remember that." It wasn't always easy to have a genius for a
partner.

We were going at least fifteen miles per hour too fast. Harry was slouched back in his seat, stiff arms
outstretched. He wore a forgotten smile and kept giving the wheel abrupt, precise little twitches. I had to
think of Mr. Toad's wild ride. At least we were in open country.

We hadn't encountered another car for about five miles now. Harry was taking the curves wider and
wider ... brushing across them and fishtailing out. Humming unhappily, I studied the map Marston had
sent us. Crater Acres. We should be almost....

There was a wild squealing. I cried out something of a religious nature and threw my hands up to protect
my face. The car bounced like a skipped stone, slowed and shuddered to a stop. The engine died. The
sun was bright and hot.

"Pretty flashy, boys. And ah'd always thought you scientist fellas were a bunch of-ribbon clerks.
Welcome to Crater Acres!"

A limited-function android with a TV screen face pulled open the cyclone-fence gate Harry had stopped
for. The android was dressed like a gun-slinger. Van Marston's familiar features grinned at us from the
screen.
Immediately beyond the gate, the vegetation grew lush. A mist clung to the heavily irrigated grounds. I
couldn't quite make out the mansion I knew lay at the center.
As soon as the gate was fully open, Harry revved the engine up to a chattering scream and peeled out,
kicking cubic meters of gravel up into a roost-ertail.

"YEEEEEHAW!" Marston's amplified voice whooped. The android drew a six-shooter and fired two
shots after us. Presumably it had aimed to miss.
Marston had made his bundle in oil and uranium. He wasn't what you'd think of as a Friend Of The
Earth. But now that he'd retired, he'd tried to fix up his Crater Acres estate like one of those wild animal