Грань будущего

           ShehadsomeAmericanIndianbloodinherandworeherblackhairpulledbackinaponytail.

           IfRitawasalynxontheprowl,Shastawasanunsuspectingrabbit.Shebelongedathome,curledupinawarm,cozyroomwatchingvidsandstuffingherfacewithbonbons,notsmearedwithoilandgreaseonsomemilitarybase.

           IspokeasgentlyasIcould."Hello."

           Shastajumpedatthesoundofmyvoice.Damn.Notgentleenough.

           Herthickglassesfelltotheconcretefloor.Watchingherlookforthoseglasseswaslikewatchingaquadriplegictreadwater.Insteadofputtingdownthemonkeywrenchandfeelingforthemwithbothhands,shegropedinvainwithjusttheone.Notexactlywhatyou’dexpectfromsomeonewho’dgraduatedtopofherclassatMIT,developedsomeofthemostadvancedmilitaryJacketsatherfirstdefenseindustryresearchpost,andthen,foranencore,leaptintotheUDFasthecracktechnicianassignedtoaparticulargunmetalredJacket.

           Ibentoverandpickedupherglasses-morelikeapairofmagnifyinglensesthathadbeenjury-riggedtogether.

           "Youdroppedthese,"Isaid,holdingthemupwhereIhopedshecouldsee.

           "Thankyou,whoeveryouare."

           "Don’tmentionit."

           Shastalookedmeover.Theglass-bottlelensesmadefriedeggsofhereyes.

           "Andyouare…?"

           "KeijiKiriya."

           "Thankyou,KeijiKiriya.I’mShastaRaylle."Ihaddeliberatelyleftoutmyrankandplatoon.Shasta’sheadsank."Irealizethismightlooklikeaplain,ordinarybarracks-well,itis,butthat’sbesidethepoint.