"L. Timmel Duchamp - Quinn's Deal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duchamp L Timmel)

work every day and weekends, which he hadn't been, at least not for all of January and most of
February)...

? Follow the orange stripe, L. Quinn,? the med-bot said. Quinn stared down at the floor. There were
four different stripes that began just this side of the opaque plastic curtain drawn over the cubicle's
threshold. Red, green, blue and orange. Orange, he guessed, was for money. Or lack thereof. Ain't no
free lunches in this country man. Like the man always says, entitlements are un-american, and
almost came close to wrecking the country when people thought they had 'em. Quinn started
walking.

***

Quinn walked the orange line past the drab olive curtain into the corridor, and then right. They'd just have
to take it out of his pay, a little bit at a time, he thought. Which would make things really tight. Room and
board just about ate everything he made. And cable fees. And god knew he couldn't live without VR on
Saturdays. Shit. The only solution would be to move somewhere cheaper. Courtney gave him such a
good deal for what he paid her, it would be a maximum blow to his Quality of Life, for sure.

As Quinn walked, he saw both solid doors and more curtains, always the same plastic in the same drab
olive, lining both sides of the corridor. The sound of someone shrieking grew louder and louder; he
wondered that any human would ever choose to work in such a place, with such animal-like sounds that
kept on, not like on the hospital shows on cable, where they were used for dramatic effect. It made him
weaker, just hearing that inhuman screaming, but instead of pausing to get his strength, he walked faster,
to get away from it. Diabetes. The truth was, his condition might be ? stable,? but his head was
pounding, and his throat so parched he couldn't stop coughing to try to kill the tickle there.

The orange line took him through an intersection, where he saw a door marked MEN. Quinn shoved it
open and blinked at the sudden sick glare. It was empty. Above the sink was posted the usual sign
warning that the water was not potable. Squinting, Quinn found the video camera in a cage suspended in
the corner a couple of feet below the ceiling. Got the right john alright, the one for the ? public." He
stood at the urinal, unzipped, and only a few seconds into the itchy, burning passage of piss forgot, in the
relief to his bladder, the camera. Feeling marginally better, Quinn followed the orange line right, through
the intersection, and down another long corridor (marked at intervals, he saw, with robot locator chips,
which he assumed he just hadn't been alert enough to spot in the other corridor).

A closed, slate gray steel door with Bursar's Office stenciled on it, where the orange line terminated,
lay at the very end. The automated teller in the wall to the right of the steel door greeted Quinn. ?
Welcome to the Bursar's Office. Please insert your Public Identity Card in the intake slot, magnetic strip
down.? Hearing footsteps, Quinn glanced over his shoulder. Another traveler along the orange line, he
presumed. Quinn swallowed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. This is probably the worst
place to pass out, if you're going to. Even if it's just an ordinary faint, they'd probably charge just
for taking your pulse. His sweaty fingers trembled so badly that it took him three tries to get the intake
to accept the card.

? L. Quinn, you have incurred charges of $625.95. According to the data on your personal identity card,
you have no medical insurance. Therefore you will please authorize the debiting of that amount from your
First Interstate account by pressing the red button marked AUTHORIZATION and placing your palm
on the palm reader plate.?

Quinn broke into a cold sweat; he felt so nauseated he thought he might vomit. (Just like he had only