The codes of corporate America’s behavior have suddenly collapsed in the face of war. Someone tried to escape to Oceania, others were in past history and at the sound of bullets took their head in with fear, others gathered in groups of resistance with the motto, old as the world: "We are in victory and we will win!" And "Tyranny - no!"
The history of mankind is wars, the rise of the winners and defeat bitterness of losers. Wars are covered very deeply with the mystery. The most important question of the war "for what?" does not find a reasonable explanation. Did not most bloody battles of mankind were just for fun? What it is: a beautiful sacrifice to the gods, enjoy the fight, a beautiful shape, passion, movement, victory call, a sense of unity of the deity? Or it is demons food with the basest man’s passions, such as hatred, envy, greed, murder for capture, a plunder for self-consolation of the vice. And a man leaves behind himself piles of corpses, a desert of the left gods, spreads maimed fates and reduce with it a lot of different creatures, feeding the hungry, death and dead chaos. But the pathos of murder, glorified at the examples of aristocratic Minnesang fanaticism or a selfless samurai code of honor, had always tried to bring to the limits of decency, like a "fair" reflection of the external invasion. Since childhood, we shudder, reading books about great battles of the antiquity. We cry from bitterness of loss, betrayal, and we listen with wet eyes to the samples of inconceivable heroism, dedication and a heroic valiant exploit. We look for a perfect heroism. But the loathsome military reality of the twentieth century, a rapidly changing globalism with the newest systems of the total surveillance with the direct penetration into citizens’ skulls, destroys the sense in modern war.
Really, now a rebel with the best will in the world can move the war to any place in the world, he can methodically slaughter someone's race or even make the genocide of the nation, increasing with it the world’s entropy. Moreover, modern warrior automatically becomes an accomplice of the whole life extinction.
To be the king of the used averaged doomed dead it is an extremely sad picture. The only sensible survival vector in the modern world is the extinction slowdown, literally and figuratively.
*
Anyway, the bag with dollars has accomplished a great feat. A smaller portion of money was spent for the preparation of the aircraft B-1B Lancer with numerous relatives, wishing to escape the war to New Zealand. Several Maher’s guards also tagged after him to the Hamilton Airport. Firstly, Colonel tried to dissuade the Yankees from it, but they were inspired with love for the mahers.
"I wish they were inspired with love, for example for the civil defense," - he thought.
Finally, they prepared for Colonel a huge white knight, looking like a dragon with three heads. A tall skinny foureyes took out a large, beautiful notebook. On the cover of the notebook and on the fuselage there was in clear lines painted a symbol of the spaceship, a flying space maiden. The head of the team said brief oration in a trembling tenor.
- According to our custom, we give personal names to our waveriders.
Colonel looked through the notebook. It was too thin. The first people were a billionaire Paul Allen, one of the Microsoft founders an aircraft designer Burt Rutan, Richard Branson and other famous names.
Dux also said a few touching words, with his terrible accent so that technicians’ necks stretched, he wrote down several bold affirmative appeals and signed in a sweeping manner: "Colonel."
Instructions could delay the landing, but far there appeared figures running out of the airport to the spacecraft. Dux immediately got into the hatch, all the more, figures were spread in a chain, flashing with fire. He heard someone breathing heavily. Colonel with some relief saw the Skinny. He held the notebook in his hands.
- Did you write down yourself? - asked Dux.
The head of the flight pathetically flashed with his spectacles. Spitting upon all instructions, they both sat on chairs, put on spacesuits and the Skinny shouted to the microphone:
- Faster, faster, faster!
Colonel also joined, howling:
- Let's go, let's go, let's go!
Really, on the runway one could see people with the typical shooters poses which couldn’t be confused with anything.
A few seconds later at the roar of engines the mahers contours mixed up with the grey, concrete runway and a Three-headed White Knight of half a billion dollars flew to the space.
*
Ten minutes later, the White Knight was at a height of twelve thousand pounds and steadily continued to climb. A great dreamer who dared to create the first private spaceship and spent billions of dollars for space hearing, Paul Allen and his followers were could do their work well. Having paid about two hundred thousand dollars, the client couldn’t just enjoy the flight and see a black chasm with his own eyes, but also fly to any point of the globe. However, just in one direction. Having risen to a height of forty thousand pounds, the rider got rid of the rider, the White Knight returned to the base, and a silver rocket, having gained the first cosmic velocity, used the whole fuel and undocked to hell. The maiden with the astronauts flew to the in zero gravity, to the black and purple space at a height of 40 thousand pounds. Momentary acceleration was spared, not more than six g-force.
*
With the incredible awe the pilots stared at the windows at a shining and frightening abyss with countless stars myriads and at the near silent and solemn ridiculous moon. Having leant back in a comfortable chair, Dux was thinking about the thinnest small flat rare world of homunculi. Crept over petty passions, they are lost in occasional sparks of inspiration. They do not know about the micro world of creatures living in material and incomprehensible subtle worlds. "Whether a person is just a limited instrument, like sliding calipers with limited resources and constant bursting emotion booms or he is a micro drop of the universe, which is trifling but can feel the whole universe in drowsiness?
*
Colonel tore himself from the fascinating soaring to the stars and fell into the state of weightlessness. He was surprisingly examining his jacket, which slowly drifted past him. Some golden obtuse 9x19 mm cartridges were peacefully pattering next to his pocket. He ably caught them and, just in case, took out of another pocket the black Beretta 92 FS.
- Do you remember I need to go to Belgrade?
- To Belgrade? Well, if...?
Colonel looked into Skinny’s eyes so intently that the last immediately huddled up.
- What's your name?
- Alex.
- Are you forty?
- Forty five.
- Are you married?
- No, I’m alone.
- What do you do?
- I train.
-?
- Boxing.
The astronauts unfastened their seatbelts and came to the window.
A blue, well done, planet with a thin layer of life was every second pumping up with the lively atmosphere and tended to the west to the huge cold star. On the sinful earth there were red rivers arteries flowing into seas, blown out caterpillars of artificial reservoirs, jellyfish- housing of islands. In the Atlantic there were huge slabs of white clouds with round wearisome craters of the caverns. On the north a touch of the colored aurora borealis was stuck like an uneven line. The moon with a baby’s Skull was continuously and wonderfully looking into Colonel’s eyes. Here, with a solid Milky Way was flowing a river of the universe. Nearby, one could guess, somewhere, pieces of carefully cultivated Europe fields and lit man-made galaxy agglomeration of the twenty-first century. A single meteorite divided with a bright spark heaven and earth.