"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

family.

IV

This is Alpertron, Ltd.'s, own chartered jet, flying at 37,000 feet above western Kansas. Stella and
Jain are sitting across the aisle from me. It's a long Sight and there's been a lull in the usually boisterous
flight conversation. Jain flips through a current Neiman-Marcus catalogue; exclusive mail-order listings
are her present passion,
I look up as she bursts into raucous laughter. "I'll be goddamned. Will you look at this?" She points at
the open catalogue on her lap.
Hollis, Moog Indigo's color operator, is seated behind her. She leans forward and cranes her neck
over Jain's shoulder. "Which?"
"That," she says. "The VTP."
"What's VTP?" says Stella.
Hollis says, "Video tape playback."
"Hey, everybody!" Jain raises her voice, cutting stridently through everyone else's conversations. "Get
this. For a small fee, these folks'll put a video tape gadget in my tombstone. It's got everythingтАФ stereo
sound and color. All I've got to do is go in before I die and cut the tape."
"Terrific!" Hollis says. "You could leave an album of greatest hits. You know, for posterity. Free
concerts on the grass every Sunday."
"That's really sick," Stella says.
"Free, hell." Jain grins. "Anybody who wants to catch the show can put a dollar in the slot."
Stella stares disgustedly out the window.
Hollis says, "Do you want one of those units for your birthday?"
"Nope." Jain shakes her head. тАЬIтАЩm not going to need one."
"Never?"
"Well. . . not for a long time." But I think her words sound unsure.
Then I only half listen as I look out from the plane across the scattered cloud banks and the Rockies
looming to the west of us. Tomorrow night we play Denver. "It's about as close to home as I'm gonna
get" Jain had said in New Orleans when we found out Denver "was booked.
"A what?" Jain's voice is puzzled.
 "A cenotaph," says Hollis.
"Shut up," Stella says. "Damn it."
We're in the Central Arena, the architectural pride of Denver District. This is the largest gathering
place in all of Rocky Mountain, that heterogeneous, anachronistic strip-city dinging to the front ranges of
the continental divide all the way from Billings down to the southern suburb of El Paso.
The dome stretches up beyond the range of the house lights. If it were rigid, there could never be a
Rocky Mountain Central Arena. But it's made of a flexible plastic-variant and blowers funnel up heated
air to keep it buoyant We're on the inner skin of a giant balloon. When the arena's full, the body heat
from the audience keeps the dome aloft, and the arena crew turns off the blowers.
I killed time earlier tonight reading the promo pamphlet on this place. As the designer says, the
combination of arena and spectators turns the dome into one sustaining organism. At first I misread it as
"orgasm."
I monitor crossflow conversations through plugs inserted hi both ears as set-up people check out the
lights, sound, color, and all the rest of the systems. Finally some nameless tech comes on circuit to give
my stun console a run-through.
"Okay, Rob, I'm up in the booth above the east aisle. Give me just a tickle." My nipples were
sensitized to her tongue, rough as a cat's.
I'm wired to a test set fully as powerful as the costume Jain'll wear laterтАФjust not as exotic. I slide a
track control forward until it reaches the five-position on a scale calibrated to one hundred.