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

"Steve, please bring in a double shot of health supplement four."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Hey! I don't want vitamins! I want--"
Bettide silenced Derek with a bored wave. "And Steve, please also bring me a
carton of the new samples of Temporin B."
Now, that was different! A new type of Temporin? Of Time-Jizz? The
possibilities were exciting.
Bettide examined Derek's file. "You've been to group therapy regularly, I see."
"They won't give you a drug card if you don't go. It's worth sitting around with a
bunch of whining marks for an hour a week, in order not to have to go to the Black
Chemists for the stuff."
"Hmmm, yes. But you're still refusing individual treatment?"
"So what? It's not mandatory. Why should I go and spill my guts to some shrink?
There's nothing wrong with me."
Derek stopped abruptly, blinking as a flashback hit--a brief, sudden image of a
trapezoid of light, then the sound of a slamming door...
He looked down and spoke again in a lower tone. "At least there's nothing wrong
with me that the right change of environment wouldn't cure," he muttered.
Dr. Bettide made an entry in Derek's file, a sniff his only comment. Derek
shrugged. So the man saw through his sophistries. At least Bettide never lectured like
a lot of Liberals would. He suspected the doctor was a Libertarian.
Yeah. Let us go to hell however we want to. It's our own choice, after all.
A pharmacology aide walked in and put down a plastic-capped beaker of orange
fluid. Next to it he placed a cardboard box that clinked, the sound of many small
bottles. Derek inspected his fingernails as the assistant passed out of the office,
ignoring the aide's expression of bored contempt.
"So what's this new type of Time-Jizz, Doctor? Will it work better?"
"Drink." Bettide gestured at the beaker without looking up. He took out a key and
unlocked his briefcase, removing a small black ledger.
Derek grimaced and reached for the vitamin suppliment, sighing for effect as he
pried off the plastic cover. He drank the orange-flavored concoction, knowing
Bettide wouldn't help him until it was all gone.
At last he put down the beaker and licked the orange coating from his ragged
moustache. "Have they found any more cases like me, Doctor?" For a change his
voice was serious, earnest.
 "A few," Bettide answered noncommitally, still writing in the small black book.
"Well? Have they found out why some of us get stuck in sequential time trips,
instead of just accessing the memories we want at will?"
Bettide closed the book and looked up. "No, Derek. We haven't. But look on the
bright side. At least you don't suffer the worst syndrome. Some Temporin users
with hidden masochistic tendencies send themselves right off to the worst moments
of their lives. A few get into flashback loops where many times each day they relive
those episodes in vivid detail, with or without the drug."
Derek blinked. "That's terrible! But..."
A crafty look spread across his face. "Oh, I get it. That's one of those aversion
stories, isn't it? Part of trying to get your clients off the very drugs you pass out.
Pretty clever. You almost scared me this time."
Bettide shrugged. "Have it your own way, Derek. As to your problem of
sequential access, I believe we might have a possible solution."
For once Derek had no comment. He edged forward in his seat.