Грань будущего

           TheonlypeoplewhodaredapproachherwereaNativeAmericanengineerwhocouldn’thardlyseestraightandthephotographer,RalphMurdoch.

           "Theydon’tmoveatall?"Ritaseemeddoubtful.

           "No,theyjustholdthatposition."

           "Idon’tknowifI’dcallitsamuraitraining.Looksmorelikeyogaifyouaskme."

           "IsitoddtofindsimilaritiesbetweenIndianmysticismandJapanesetradition?"

           "Ninety-eight!"

           "Ninety-eight!"

           "Ninety-nine!"

           "Ninety-nine!"

           Staringintothegroundlikefarmerswatchingricegrow,thesoldiersbarkedintimewiththedrillsergeant.Theshoutsofthe146menechoedinRita’sskull.Afamiliarmigrainesentwiresofpainthroughherhead.Thiswasabadone.

           "Anotherheadache?"

           "Noneofyourbusiness."

           "Idon’tseehowaplatoonworthofdoctorscan’tfindacureforoneheadache."

           "NeitherdoI.Whydon’tyoutrytofindout?"shesnapped.

           "Theykeepthoseguysonaprettyshortleash.Ican’tevengetaninterview."

           Murdochraisedhiscamera.Itwasn’tclearwhatheintendedtodowiththeimagesofthespectacleunfoldinginperfectstillnessbeforehim.Maybesellthemtoatabloidwithnothingbettertoprint.

           "I’mnotsurethat’sinverygoodtaste."Ritadidn’tknowasinglesoldieronthefield,butshedidn’thavetoknowthemtolikethembetterthanMurdoch.

           "Picturesareneithertastefulnordistasteful.Ifyouclickonalinkandapictureofacorpsepopsup,youmighthavegroundsforalawsuit.