Pacifist

Начало книги

It was another time, another space, another continuum.

Warren Casey called, “Boy! You’re Fredric McGivern, aren’t you?”

The lad stopped and frowned in puzzlement. “Well, yes, sir.” He was a youngster of about nine. A bit plump, particularly about the face.

Warren Casey said, “Come along, son. I’ve been sent to pick you up.”

The boy saw a man in his mid-thirties, a certain dynamic quality behind the facial weariness. He wore a uniform with which young McGivern was not familiar, but which looked reassuring.

“Me, sir?” the boy said. “You’ve been sent to pick me up?”

“That’s right, son. Get into the car and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“But my father said…”

“Your father sent me, son. Senator McGivern. Now, come along or he’ll be angry.”

“Are you sure?” Still frowning, Fredric McGivern climbed into the helio-car. In seconds it had bounded into the second level and then the first, to speed off to the southwest.

Читать дальше →