"Katharine Kerr - Resurrection" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

legally a California citizen and a member of its Air Services. She feels nothing for the word American
except a faint whisper of connotation: foreigner. That such a concrete picture, so charged with emotion,
could emerge out of a glitch, out of an accident and death and chaos, turns her stomach cold simply
because it's such an irrelevant detail, such a trivial stupid fiction. If she'd forgotten her own name, say, or
what her fiance looked like, she would have been able to accept such lapses more easily, perhaps and
maybe only because those are the things most often forgotten by resurrected war casualties in the
made-for-TV-movies, or maybe because it's the problem she doesn't have. She isn't sure which.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, but the workout room's going to be open from ten till four," Rosas says. "Gonna
come in?"

"Oh yeah, but I promised my mom I'd take Sunday off. My sister's coming up from San Luis Obispo,
and who knows when they'll get another chance at train tickets."

"Right. You can't miss that, for sure. Okay, come in tomorrow, skip Sunday, and I'll see you on Monday
round bout this time. Any questions you want to ask me?"

There is always a question, but one that Tiffany has yet to get up her nerve to ask.Will I fly again? Will I
ever ever be able to fly again, to do the one thing in life, the only thing in life that I wanted to do badly
enough to risk my life for ?

"No questions, no. Thanks, Doc. See you Monday."

From her locker in the rehab room Tiffany gets her red and tan Forty-Niner jacket, puts it on, then uses
her good hand to slip her bad hand into a side-pocket, because people on the street do tend to stare at
it. Then comes the big step, forcing herself to leave. In the Zombie Ward proper all the corridors are
painted bluish-gray in a matte finish, and all the lights hidden behind diffusion panels, except for the last
hundred yards or so, designed as a transition to the noise and shattered light of the outside world. First
the blue-gray turns shiny; chrome strips appear along the moldings; the lights brighten; the walls change to
glaring yellow. In the big foyer, the world glitters behind double glass doors. Tiffany hesitates just out of
range of the electric eye and takes a deep breath. Going out reminds her of the scuba diving she used to
love so much, a plunge, a dropping down, an immersing into a peculiar world of shattered light and
immeasurable shadow. When she takes a step forward, the doors slide open with a blare of sun like
trumpets. She steps through onto gray walkway. Green spreads out and menaces while white flames rise
in pillars and swell. A fanged mouth gleams in the green.

"Let your eyes adjust. It be just your eyes. And the light."

A passing orderly ignores her comment. She reminds herself, no more talking out loud, and begins her
walk down to the bus shelter at the bottom of the hill. The green resolves itself into ice plant, tufted with
purple flowers, each water-conserving spike somewhat tooth-shaped, and trees, rather typical cypresses,
not twisted vampire forms writhing in sun fire. The white and bloated towers become hospital buildings.
The view makes sense again. It takes a few seconds, at times, for her recently grown axions, the neurons
firing in a new order, to cross-connect and control sensory overload.

Names, which swarmed round her brain like so many tiny flies circling above fruit, have all settled down
again, each in its proper place. She glances back, savoring labels, rejoicing in the ability to label.
Enclosed lawn. Door. Window. And distantly, in the blueness of the bay, water. And nearer by, her own
head. She touches the back of her head. Hand. Takes out the bad hand and looks at it. Palm of her
hand, crisscrossed though it be by scars, paper-cut-thin scars, where the surgeons sliced in to reattach