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

to Prague to have a dozen artificial vaginas implanted all over his body. Nerve grafts, neural rerouting, the
works. I'd seen him interviewed on some talk show where he'd worn a jumpsuit zipped to the neck.
"It's grotesque," Stella says.
Jain takes back the book and shrugs.
"Would yon try something like this?"
"Maybe I'm way beyond it" A receptacle works only one-way.
Stella goes white and bites off whatever it is she was about to say.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry." Jam smiles and looks fourteen again. Then тАвhe stands and gives Stella a quick
hug. She glances over at me and winks, and my face starts to flush. One-way.
Now, months later, I remember it and my skin again goes warm. "Get oat of here," I say to the lads.
"I'm trying to concentrate." They look irritated, but they leave.
IтАЩm done with the circuit chips. Now the easy staff. I wryly note the male and female plugs Fm
connecting. Jain. . .
The com circuit buzzes peremptorily and Jain's voice says, "Robbie? Can you meet me outside?"
I hesitate, then say, "Sure, I'm almost done with the board."
тАЬIтАЩve got a car; we're going away."
"What?"
"Just for the afternoon."
"Listen, JainтАФ"
She says, "Hurry," and cuts off.
It's gonna be a hell of a concert.

IX

Tonight's crowd strains even the capacity of the Rocky Mountain Central Arena. The gate people
say there are more than nine hundred thousand people packed into the smoky recesses of the dome. It's
not just hard to believe; it's scary. But computer ticket-totes don't lie.
I look out at the crowd and it's like staring at the Pacific after dark; the gray waves march out to the
horizon until you can't tell one from the other. Here on the stage, the crowd-mutter even sounds like the
sea, exactly as though I was on the beach trying to hear in an eighteen-foot surf. It all washes around me
and I'm grateful for the twin earpieces, reassured to hear the usual check-down lists on the in-house com
circuit
I notice that the blowers have cut off. It's earlier than usual, but obviously there's enough body heat to
keep the dome buoyed aloft I imagine the Central Arena drifting away like that floating city they want to
make out of Venice, California. There is something appealing about the thought of this dome floating
away like dandelion fluff. But now the massive air-conditioning units hum on and the fantasy dies.
The house lights momentarily dim and the crowd noise raises a few decibels. I realize I can't see
features or faces or even separate bodies. There are simply too many people to comprehend. The crowd
has fused into one huge tectonic slab of flesh.
"Rob, are you ready?" The tech's soft voice in my earpiece.
"Ready."
"It's a big gate tonight Can you do it?"
Sixty overlay tracks and one com board between Jain and maybe a cool million horny, sweating
spectators? "Sure," I say. "Easy." But momentarily I'm not sure and I realize how tightly I'm gripping the
ends of the console. I consciously will my fingers to loosen.
"Okay," the tech says. "But if anything goes wrong, cut it Right? Damp it completely."
"Got it"
"Fine," he says. "About a minute, stand by. Ms, Snow wants to say hello."
"Hello, Robbie?"
"Yeah," I say. "Good luck."