"Paul Di Filippo - The Reluctant Book" - читать интересную книгу автора (Di Filippo Paul)

 Vellum smiled prettily. "Of course I have, Canto. I won't ask you the
same, because I can see right away that you have."
Canto sighed. That was romantic Vellum all over, perceptive and
sensitive
to a fault. A surge of melancholy passed through Canto as he wished for
the hundredth time that he and Vellum embodied the same type of text.
But
they didn't, and without that prerequisite, chances were they would
never
be allowed to mate.
The books had no diurnal libidos. Chemically suppressed, their sexual
instincts were allowed to come afire only when the librarians wished to
mate two books and produce a new text. And the chances that books from
different fields would be brought together were minimal. What, after
all,
would be the point of breeding a work on neutrino construction with a
volume of chaoticist poetry? Chances were that the offspring would be
useless--although sometimes such wild hybrids did give rise to
completely
new areas of fruitful study--and in that case, the book-knackers would
be
summoned to dispose of the useless whelp.
Canto shuddered at that thought. Better never to know the bliss of
conjugal union with Vellum than to bring such a hapless creature into
the
world.
Just as Canto was about to exchange more pleasantries with Vellum, the
herd of books began to fall silent, focusing their attention toward the
food dispensers. Canto took Vellum's paw and they both directed their
gaze
forward.
Onto a tabletop clambered with some hesitancy a grizzled, plumpish
book:
Incunabula. Able now to command the whole herd, supported by two
assistants, Trivium and Quadrivium, Incunabula began to speak.
"Ahem, my fellow books. Thank you all for leaving your carrels to
attend
to my humble speech. I shan't keep you long. I only wish to say that I
fully realize that since the untimely mortal passage of our dear
librarian, all of us have been anxious about what the future might hold
for us. Some of us might even have thought of following the Catalogue
into
the outer world, where only dangers and hardships await--bibliovores
such
as the gnoles and gnurrs and zipper-nut squirrels. I caution anyone
entertaining such a desperate scheme to be patient. Surely we shall all
find a new home very soon. After all, our utility and value are
unquestionable. Are not we books the fount of all new conjectures and
theorems? Unlike the static databases, the ever-shifting texts we
embody,