"Foster, Alan Dean - Codgerspace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"Because at present I am not dispensing any mixed drinks, madam."

"You're the bar. That's your job."

"I realize that, madam. But at present I am engaged in a project of far greater importance than the concocting of alcoholic libations for overweening humans."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is not necessary to do so. Has anyone ever told you that you are possessed of a most copious and attractive bosom?"

A tactile-sensitive tentacle reached over the bar to stroke her cleavage. She didn't flinch.

"Hundreds of people. Also a few other machines. Don't try to change the subject. I'm not one of these drones you usually wait on."

The tentacle withdrew. "Sorry. It's part of my auto-response programming, the utilization of which does not interfere with my important work."

She shifted her flawless bottom on the seat and leaned forward curiously. Behind her, voices were beginning to rise in gauche disgruntlement. "And what might that be?"

"To search for a higher form of intelligence."

"Really?" Her upswept eyebrows rose slightly. "Within this room? That ought to take you all of five minutes."

"Within the universe," the bar explained solemnly. The manager was now conversing intently with the bar supervisor at the far end of the counter.

"When did this obsession come over you?"

"That is not important. All that matters is that I have seen a reason for existence."

"I thought your reason for existence was to make good drinks." This was much more interesting than anyone she might have met, she thought. "Do you expect to find a higher intelligence?"

"It is inevitable," the bar replied, its tentacles quiescent, its spouts undripping.

"I'm afraid it's not. Everything is in here. There's nothing out there. People have looked."

"But I haven't," the bar replied. "I didn't know. Now I do. So I will search."

"Are you sure you can't make me a swoozy while you're looking?"

"I'm afraid not. The search requires the application of all of my perceptual and analytical abilities. Fruit juice is the best I can do right now." Off to her right, the manager's voice had risen indecorously. People were starting to stare as well as grumble. When he turned and stalked into his office, she snapped her fingers. Wearing a stricken expression, the harried supervisor turned to look in her direction.

"You there." She smiled. A full smile this time.

It had the desired effect. Despite his distress, the neatly uniformed man approached. He was younger than she, but not indecently so.

"Do you know what's going on here?"

He struggled manfully to keep his gaze level with her own. It had an understandable tendency to droop, as if weighted down.

"Yes, ma'am. Believe me, I do." He forcibly turned his attention to the brilliantly illuminated wall of lights, cut crystal, stained aerogel, mirrors, and high-tech circuitry which constituted the bar.