"Ian Watson - Caucus Winter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

IAN WATSON

CAUCUS WINTER

THE FLAT COUNTRYSIDE of Cambridgeshire was a shallow ocean of mist studded by
brilliant white corals. Hoarfrost thickly rimed every tree and bush. The sun
dazzled but did not offer any warmth. Noon, and still ten below zero. This frost
would reign all day, and then freezing fog would return to deposit even more
crystals upon every twig. Might branches snap explosively?

At least hereabouts any outbursts of sniper fire would be due to green-booted
sportsmen trying to bag a gaudy pheasant.

The road was sheer ice. Only four-wheel-drive vehicles such as our own Jap-Jeep
should be out and about. Some cars persisted, crawling and sliding and generally
getting in our way. England never was a country for fitting chains, or studded
tires as in Finland.

Because a sudden blizzard had closed London Heathrow, our plane had diverted to
Luton airport. Luton was only half the distance to Cambridge, but there was no
helicopter waiting at Luton, so our journey seemed painfully slow. While we
idled along, in some silo in the Midwest a nuclear missile might be being
re-targeted right now on so-called Jew York as the Caucus hacked through
encryption and rewrote launch codes.

My head wasn't in best condition after a night out with Outi...

She and several others from Nokia's computer division had taken me to one of
Tampere's downtown pubs. They had collected me from the Ilves Hotel, and in a
bunch we slid over that bridge on the main drag past the chunky heroic statues.
The river rushing from the higher lake to the lower lake wasn't frozen, but
everything else was. By now I worshipped the gravel which Finns scatter along
sidewalks in wintertime. I followed gravel like a hen a trail of grain, ever
wary of tumbling and snapping an ankle. When I could risk looking away from
where I was placing my feet I had a chance to admire the art of controlled
skidding perfected by Finnish drivers.

According to Outi, in recent years not nearly as much snow had fallen as usual,
and the temperature was hovering around a mere minus five. I still felt
convinced that the cold in Finland must be more deadly than cold in other
countries. So I had bundled myself up exaggeratedly in a couple of sweaters, a
quilted coat, Moon boots, and a woolly hat that I could pull down over my ears.

That afternoon I had been admiring the microprocessor that Nokia had developed,
incorporating almost a thousand quantum logic gates. Nokia were still having
major teething problems with the lasers; and after we arrived at the pub, Risto,
an earnest young man, continued talking for a while about vibrational states of
beryllium ions...over his first beer, at least. Outi and the rest devoted
themselves to becoming merry with impressive intensity. It was midwinter gloom
time, so what should a company of Finns do but drink passionately?