"Elisabeth Leslie - Masks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leslie Elisabeth)

Masks
by Elisabeth Leslie


I just can't figure out what to tell Stephan. The party was scheduled for Lucien's chтteau, in the Alps somewhere. I guess that means it was Switzerland. Our teleport booth has a pressure compensator, so we don't need to worry much about altitude changes any more. That's a real relief. Last year, when I visited my mother in Uruguay, my ears would ache for hours.

The party was to start around 21 G, which was just after dinner by my clock. Stephan and I have been clocking together for years. He works in the plowshare division of Ubertek in Hamburg. My freelance nanocloth business is booming. Sales in Africa have been picking up, especially with the Ombonae holiday coming up. Everybody wants "the clothing that changes by the minute." Our friends all told us we were weird to be married, in this day and age, but it really suits us. Or me, at least. I guess I'm a little insecure.

I'd brought home two masks from my lab outside Pittsburgh. The nanocloth was linked to a library of old movie stars, with audio inputs so that the face would change with different musical beats. I worked on that damned interface for hours. Mine had Garbo, Hepburn, Hunter, Reynolds, Roberts, Taylor -- all the best, most recognizable faces from 20th Century film. (Plus Caldwell. I know she isn't 20th, but I love her eyes.) Stephan's had Bogart, Brosnan, Connery, Cooper, Ford, Grant, Presley -- the hunks.

That night the party was looming, and I'd had a rough day on the TP circuit. The pressure compensator doesn't work right if the booth you're popping into doesn't have a sensor. The best it can do is estimate the pressure from the local weather report, and pop! there you are. Of course, pop! there go you ears, too, and it really upsets my digestion. I think stomach gases expand and contract, too, but Stephan says I'm wrong.

My head was killing me, and I couldn't get myself in a party mood. I have a killer dress, with an "active camouflage" midriff I've been experimenting with. It's kind of like those military units the Iranians used. The nanocloth projects an image of whatever's behind you so that it looks for all the world like you have a hole in the middle.

But my killer dress took second place to my killer headache. I took a pain pill, but that didn't do the trick. Too many pops does that to me, sometimes.

Stephan came in as Cooper. His tux was fabulous. He struck a pose with a martini glass. "The name's Bond. James Bond." His voice was oddly muffled by the mask.

"Wrong movie, big boy," I smirked. "You're Gary Cooper now."

"Shit," he laughed, checking my mirror. "How can I tell who I am in this thing?"

"You can't. Guessing is half the fun."

"Are you about ready? I told Mitch we'd be there by 2130."

That did it. I hate Mitch. With this headache, I didn't want to pretend to be civil to the creep all evening. "Stephan, I don't know . . ."

He looked at me with Cooper's eyes. "What's wrong? Headache still bothering you?"

"I'm afraid so. I think I'm going to stay home tonight."

"But, Shanna, we've been planning this for weeks!"

"It's okay. We can pop to Jeannette's party tomorrow night. It's a different crowd, and we can both wear the whole ensemble."

"Now, Shanna, you know I never have any fun when you're not there."

"Don't be silly," I said. "You'll have a great time. I'll just take a nap and hope this headache goes away."

"Well," he said, "if you're sure . . ."

"Shoo!" I replied. "Go have a good time. Give my best to Lucien."

He raised his mask to kiss me good-bye, then he stepped out to the TP booth. I lay down on our old-fashioned bed. Stephan doesn't like mechanized sheets or blankets. I drifted off, dreaming about masks.

I awoke about an hour later, feeling refreshed. The pain had subsided. I had the most devilish thought. I popped over to Rio and bought a carnival costume. It was a bird, complete with feathered crest, but it had a long, fluted skirt made out of a subtle feather print, and the top consisted of large, strategically placed feathers on a string. It was definitely dangerous. It was definitely not me. But that was the point.

When I popped into Lucien's place, the party was really going. The snow falling outside contrasted with the hot, pulsing music. Lucien met me at the doorway, dressed in the mandatory tux. I lifted my mask briefly and whispered my little plan. He promised he'd never breathe a word of it. The cad.