"James Patrick Kelly - Ninety Percent of Everything" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

called out to me in childish voices, "Buy me! Buy me!" The heavy rear door
swung open and I peered into the van. It was dim and cold -- not freezing, but
chilly enough to make me wish I'd brought a sweater.
"Come in, come in."
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw another Wetherall avatar
sitting behind a dark wooden desk. A hologram. Unlike the first avatar, this
one was wearing data spex. I saw its breath in the cold air -- very lifelike.
I was impressed. It mumbled something I couldn't quite hear.
"I'm sorry," I said. "What was that?"
Yellow and blue lights ghosted across the lenses of its spex. The
avatar frowned. "The P/E is eleven," it said. "I'm not offering a ruble more
than twenty-six."
I wondered if Saintjohn was worried yet. Good old Liz was never late
for a meeting. "Maybe I'd better come back later."
"Absolutely not. Under no circumstances." It made a swiping motion
across the desktop; I doubted it heard me. "I'm not interested in a limited
partnership."
If I was looking to get ignored, I could do it as easily in the
department as here. "Nice place you've got here," I said. "All you need is a
few penguins."
"You're cold?" Its head jerked in surprise. "I find that the body works
at peak efficiency when the air temperature is -- _E il presso migliore che mi
puo fare, Giacomo_? Liz, I'm sorry, you should sit down."
I settled reluctantly into the plush chair facing the desk. It was as
warm as a baby's hand.
"Yes, Murk, I'll get her to sign a release, don't worry. Yes, I agree."
It nodded, then its voice dropped a register. "I'm sorry, darling, I'm spread
a little thin at the moment. How about eleven? I'll send the limo."
"And all I get is the Jolly Freeze van?" I stood. "Good-bye, Mr.
Wetherall. We'll have to not talk again real soon."
 The avatar shot out of its chair. "Liz, please." It pulled off the spex
and dropped them on the desk. "I'm finished. I promise there will be no
further interruptions."
Something about the way the spex bounced against the wood caught my
attention. I leaned forward and flicked my forefinger against them. They were
real. "You're you, aren't you? Ramsdel Wetherall."
He shrugged. "So they tell me."
I sank back in my chair and chuckled in disbelief. "Aren't you going to
make me sign something?"
"That's Murk's obsession -- my lawyer." He resumed his seat and did
something behind his desk that brought the lights up in the van. For a moment
he studied me, as if noticing for the first time that I was a woman. "Should
I?"
I may not be Dawn Zoftiggle, but I have my pride. People tell me I'm
attractive -- smart people, lots of people. On the other hand, I didn't want
to give him the impression that I was harboring some romantic design on him.
He was Ramsdel Wetherall, after all. "You can't buy the shitdogs," I said,
feeling my face flush in the cold air.
"I don't want them." He opened a desk drawer. "I want their jewels."
I couldn't help it; I laughed at him. He laughed with me.