"John Varley - Picnic On Nearside" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

scare, Birkson happened to be closest to the projected epicenter of the blast. The Central Computer
found him twenty-five seconds after Chief Bach rang off from her initial report. He was lining up a putt
on the seventeenth green of the Burning Tree underground golf course, a half kilometer from
Prosperity Plaza, when his bag of clubs began to ring. Birkson was wealthy. He employed a human
caddy instead of the mechanical sort. The caddy dropped the flag he had been holding and went to
answer it. Birkson took a few practice swings, but found that his concentration had been broken. He
relaxed, and took the call.

"I need your advice," Bach said, without preamble. "I'm the Chief of Municipal Police for New
Dresden, Anna-Louise Bach. I've had a report on a nuclear bomb on the Leystrasse, and I don't have
anyone with your experience in these matters. Could you meet me at the tube station in ten minutes?"

"Are you crazy? I'm shooting for a seventy-five with two holes to go, an easy three-footer on
seventeen and facing a par five on the last hole, and you expect me to go chasing after a hoax?"

"Do you know it to be a hoax?" Bach asked, wishing he would say yes.

"Well, no, I just now heard about it, myself. But ninety percent of them are, you know."

"Fine. I suggest you continue your game. And since you're so sure, I'm going to have Burning
Tree sealed off for the duration of the emergency. I want you right there."

Birkson considered this. "About how far away is this 'Leystrasse'?"

"About six hundred meters. Five levels up from you, and one sector over. Don't worry. There
must be dozens of steel plates between you and the hoax. You just sit tight, all right?" Birkson said
nothing.

"I'll be at the tube station in ten minutes," Bach said.

"I'll be in a special capsule. It'll be the last one for five hours." She hung up.

Birkson contemplated the wall of the underground enclosure. Then he knelt on the green and
lined up his putt. He addressed the ball, tapped it, and heard the satisfying rattle as it sank into the cup.

He looked longingly at the eighteenth tee, then jogged off to the clubhouse.

"I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder.



Bach's capsule was two minutes late, but she had to wait another minute for Birkson to show up.
She fumed, trying not to glance at the timepiece embedded in her wrist.

He got in, still carrying his putter, and their heads were jerked back as the capsule was launched.
They moved for only a short distance, then came to a halt. The door didn't open.

"The system's probably tied up," Bach said, squirming. She didn't like to see the municipal
services fail in the company of this Terran.