"downtime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Eric)

Sinclair felt his pulse quicken. "So we can continue with our vacation?"

"Ah... that's what I'm here to inform you."

"You're going to pull us out?"

"We deem it in the best interests of our clients if we disconnect you as soon as possible. We need to overhaul the system before the next batch of customers. Of course, you will all be adequately compensated, and you will have priority use of the MKCR when we re-open in a couple of months."

Sinclair felt a cry rising within him. He heard no more of what the operative was saying, but turned and hurried into the bedroom.

A ghostly figure was dematerialising from beside the bed. Andy was sitting up, staring through the formless haze at Sinclair with a look of shock. They came together and held onto each other, as if for dear life.

Seconds later Sinclair watched the reality around him go into a slow dissolve. He cried out, clutched at Andy's broad shoulders, but his embrace closed on nothing. Darkness swamped him. In his consciousness he recalled the horror to which he was returning, and screamed in silence.

When the medics had suggested that he spend a month in the MKCR, Sinclair had at first demurred. Would not a month of paradise make all the more appalling the reality of his situation when he returned? They had replied that surely a month of luxury would be preferable to the pain he was suffering now - and, anyway, by the time of his return he would be so drugged as to be oblivious of both the pain and the knowledge of his demise.

But he had returned three weeks early, to a skeletal frame wracked by a degree of pain he had quite forgotten. Powerful analgesics eased the worst of he agony, but nothing could obliterate the fear.

Days passed in a senseless blur. He spent great chunks of time unconscious. Occasionally he would surface and pass a few relatively pain free hours watching the sunlight through the hospital window, or staring at mindless images on the tv screen.

He was conscious, and sitting up in bed, when a nurse breezed in. "Mr Sinclair," she announced, "we have a call for you." She hauled the vid-screen down on its extendable boom from the ceiling, positioned it before him.

He shaped his lips to form the word, "Who?"

The nurse smiled, activated the set, and left the room.

The screen remained blank. Sinclair was too weak to reach out and adjust the picture.

"Lewis?" The voice was familiar - but, at the same time, altered.

Sinclair felt his pulse quicken. With all his strength he forced himself to say,

"Andy?"

"Of course. Who else? I want to see you."

A croak: "No! Please... I'm not-"

"I'm downstairs, in reception. I'm coming up." A pause, then: "I don't want to shock you, so..." Suddenly, the screen flared and showed someone staring out at him. For a second, Sinclair thought that he was looking at a mirror image of himself.

"Andy...?"

"You weren't the only one who wasn't truthful on New Crete," Andy said. "I just couldn't bring myself to admit..." He paused, then managed, "I didn't want to hurt you."

Sinclair tried to control his emotions. "And... now?"

"Now... now we need each other more than ever," Andy said. He smiled. "I'm coming up, but don't hold your breath. This might take some time." He disappeared, slowly, from the screen.

In preparation, arranging a smile of welcome, Sinclair turned his head towards the door and waited.