"David Brin - A Stage of Memory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

"... You won't get any more Tripastim until your amino acid balance is better, Mr.
Saunders... How? By improving your diet of course..."
And another.
"... Here is your allotment, Mrs. Fine. No, first you sign here. Yes, here. And you
must drink this vitamin supplement... I've already explained, Mrs. Fine. The
government doesn't subsidize your habit because it's your right, but in order to drive
the Black Chemists out of business. We can undercharge them and see to it you
have every chance to kick it if you decide to. Part of the deal is making sure you get
the nutritional..."
Derek closed his eyes. The Liberal-Libertarian coalition had trounced the old
Republicans and Democrats in the last election, and Drug Centers like this one were
among their first steps on taking office. It had been a good move. Too bad
Libertarians were so stingy, though, and the Liberals so damned sanctimonious. If
only they'd just give over the doses and shut their bloody--
"Number eighty-seven." The nurse's sharp voice made Derek feel brittle. But it
was his number, at last! He stood up."
"I'm number eighty-seven."
The nurse's look seemed to say that what she saw was both pitiable and vaguely
loathsome. "Go to station twelve, please," she said, referring to her clipboard. "Ms.
Sanchez has your chart."
Derek shook his head. "I wish to see Dr. Bettide. It is a matter of some urgency,
requiring the attention of someone with his expertise."
The woman looked up, surprised. Derek felt a moment's satisfaction. He might
look like a derelict, but the voice was still Derek Blakeney's. It commanded attention.
"Dr. Bettide is very busy," the nurse began uncertainly. "He's good enough to
volunteer his time as it is. We only send him referrals from--"
"Just convey him my name, if you please." He handed her one of his last few
cards, certain he could recover it. "The doctor will see me, I am certain of it." He
smiled, a relaxed expression of assurance and patience.
"Well..." She blushed slightly and decided. "Wait here, please. I'll ask the
doctor."
When she had gone, Derek let his expression sag again. Without an audience he
folded in upon himself.
Lord, he thought. I hate this overlit, stinking pesthole. I hate the world for having
such places in it. And most of all I hate having to beg for the stuff I need in order to
get the hell out of this goddamn turn-of-the-century world.
It isn't fair. All I want to do is go home again! Is that too much to ask? Frigging
scientists work wonders these days. Why can't they just send me home again?



3
"It's not fair, I tell you. The injection and the new dose should have taken me
back to age twelve! Not thirty-five, but twelve! What's the matter with the damn
stuff?"
It never occurred to Derek to present a false face to Dr. Melniss Bettide. He acted
the age he wanted to be in the presence of the man he hoped would make it possible.
 A small, dark man, Dr. Bettide regarded Derek through thick-lensed glasses.
Derek grew uncomfortable under the physician's unblinking stare. At last Bettide
pressed a button on his intercom.