"Gwyneth Jones - Red Sonja and Lessingham in Dreamland" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Gwyneth)

"Then our way lies together."
 He was wearing the same leather jerkin, over knee-length loose breeches of heavy violet silk. Sonja
looked at the strips of linen that bound the wound on his upper arm. "When did you tie up that cut?"
"You dressed it for me, for which I thank you."
"When did I do that?"
He shrugged. "Oh, sometime."
Sonja mounted Lemiak, a little frown between her brows. They rode together until dusk. She was
not talkative and the man soon accepted her silence. But when night fell, and they camped without a fire
on the houseless plain: then, as the demons stalked, they were glad of each other's company. Next dawn,
the mountains seemed as distant as ever. Again, they met no living creature all day, spoke little to each
other, and made the same comfortless camp. There was no moon. The stars were almost bright enough
to cast shadow; the cold was intense. Sleep was impossible, but they were not tempted to ride on. Few
travelers attempt the passage over the high plains to Zimiamvia. Of those few most turn back, defeated.
Some wander among the ruins forever, tearing at their own flesh. Those who survive are the ones who do
not defy the terrors of darkness.
They crouched shoulder to shoulder, each wrapped in a single blanket, to endure. Evil emanations of
the death-steeped plain rose from the soil and bred phantoms. The sweat of fear was cold as ice melt on
Sonja's cheeks. Horrors made of nothingness prowled and muttered in her mind.
"How long," she whispered. "How long do we have to bear this?"
The man's shoulder lifted against hers. "Until we get well, I suppose."
The warrior-woman turned to face him, green eyes flashing in appalled outrage.


"Sonja" discussed this group member's felony with the therapist. Dr. HamiltonтАФhe wanted them to call
him Jim, but "Sonja" found this impossibleтАФmonitored everything that went on in the virtual environment.
But he never appeared there. They only met him in the one-to-one consultations that virtual-therapy buffs
called the meat sessions.
"He's not supposed to do that," she protested, from the foam couch in the doctor's office. He was
sitting beside her, his notebook on his knee. "He damaged my experience."
Dr. Hamilton nodded. "Okay. Let's take a step back. Leave aside the risk of disease or pregnancy:
because we can leave those bogeys aside, forever if you like. Would you agree that sex is essentially an
innocent and playful social behaviorтАФsomething you'd offer to or take from a friend, in an ideal world, as
easily as food or drink?"
"Sonja" recalled certain dreamsтАФmeat dreams, not the computer-assisted kind. She blushed. But
the man was a doctor after all. "That's what I do feel," she agreed. "That's why I'm here. I want to get
back to the pure pleasure, to get rid of the baggage."
"The sexual experience offered in virtuality therapy is readily available on the nets. You know that.
And you could find an agency that would vet your partners for you. You chose to join this group because
you need to feel that you're taking medicine, so you don't have to feel ashamed. And because you need
to feel that you're interacting with people who, like yourself, perceive sex as a problem."
"Doesn't everyone?"
"You and another group member went off into your own private world. That's good. That's what's
supposed to happen. Let me tell you, it doesn't always. The software gives you access to a vast
multisensual library, all the sexual fantasy ever committed to media. But you and your partner, or
partners, have to customize the information and use it to create and maintain what we call the consensual
perceptual plenum. Success in holding a shared dreamland together is a knack. It depends on
something in the neural makeup that no one has yet fully analyzed. Some have it, some don't. You two
are really in sync."
"That's exactly what I'm complaining aboutтАФ" "You think he's damaging the pocket universe you
two built up. But he isn't, not from his character's point of view. It's part Lessingham's thing, to be