"G. Howell - The Human Memoirs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howell G)

cubicle with her. A shame she had a tendency to turn it into an experience
akin to being shut in refrigerator. A real waste.
He sighed. . . Oh well. "If you're going to do it that way, what do
you need me for? I'll just let you get on with it." He began to stand but
she kicked his feet out so he fell back into the chair.
"Sit down! You're a walking encyclopedia when it comes to this kind of
thing. And I know you get a rush out of doing it. Already got a career planned
out, haven't you? What was it? Historics and Research?"
"Uh. . . yes. How'd you know?"
"Heard you in the canteen."
"Oh." When had that been? He hadn't been to the canteen for. . .
"I can't understand why you enjoy this kind of thing," she snorted.
"We could be researching something practical, like matrix memory, or the space
probes and parallel junction projects."
"And where'd those come from?" He waved the disk. "Aren't you
forgetting who actually suggested those ideas. We've just developed the
capabilities to actually build them."
"History!" she muttered. "Shackles of expectations!"
"Huh?"
 "Nothing." She shook her head. "Just forget it."
"Forget it? You like riddles?"
"No. It's nothing. Just something my father once told me."
"Your. . . "
"Don't ask!" she snapped. "Now we've got work to do. That video: how
accurate was it?"
"Uh. . . " her sudden change of tact had thrown him. Her father, that
was a fascinating slip. There was more there. . . but later. "I. . . It was
fairly well done, but of course you could still tell they were costumes. And
they 'cleaned it up' a little: rearranged parts to make it more interesting."
He flipped the disk box in the air and caught it again. "This transcription
is copied verbatim from the original translation. Well, as close as possible
anyway. Everything's there."
"Great," she muttered unenthusiastically. "Ah, well. What about the
museum? You recommend it?"
"Definitely! You haven't seen anything until you've seen them in the
flesh, so to speak. Weird!" he chuckled, then added, "And you should look up
their mating habits. That's got some interesting tidbits."
Mas snorted, snatched the case and popped it open, checking the disk's
label before dropping it into the drive. The screen flickered, the
manufacturer's logo blinking across the top, then the disk's boot sectors took
over and a menu appeared, icons arranged in neat rows. Mas selected one,
pressed the puck's button and the drive light flickered for a second, then the
high-resolution digitized graphic of an ancient, worn leather volume appeared
on the screen along with title and dates. Beat his old system back home clear
out of the running speedwise, and the graphics were so clear they seemed to
jump out of the glass. Another few seconds then the screen cleared and the
text of the translation began to scroll down the VDU.
"Put it up on the big screen," he suggested, then after a few seconds
added, "Who knows, you might even find this interesting."
She bared teeth back at him and he smiled to himself.