"David Marusek - The Wedding Album" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marusek David)

weтАЩre the sims!" It was like a roomful of unsynchronized cuckoo clocks tolling the hour. Those
behind Anne laughed and hooted approval. She turned again to look at them. Row-by-row, the
Benjamins grew grayer and stringier until, at the very top, against the back wall, sat nine ancient
Benjamins like a panel of judges. The women, however, came in batches that changed abruptly
every row or two. The one nearest her was an attractive brunette with green eyes and full, pouty
lips. She, all two rows of her, frowned at Anne.

"ThereтАЩs something else," Anne said to Benjamin, turning to face the front again, "my emotions."
The bulletproof happiness she had experienced was absent. Instead she felt let down, somewhat
guilty, unduly pessimistic-in short, almost herself.

"I guess my sims always say that," exclaimed the chorus of Benjamins down front, to the delight of
those behind. "I just never expected to be a sim."

This was the cue for the eldest Benjamin yet to walk stiffly across the stage to the lectern. He was
dressed in a garish leisure suit: baggy red pantaloons, a billowy yellow-and-green-striped blouse, a
necklace of egg-sized pearlescent beads. He cleared his throat and said, "Good afternoon, ladies
and gentlemen. I trust all of you know me-intimately. In case youтАЩre feeling woozy, itтАЩs because I
used the occasion of your reactivation to upgrade your architecture wherever possible.
Unfortunately, some of you-" he waved his hand to indicate the front rows-"are too primitive to
upgrade. But we love you nevertheless." He applauded for the early Benjamins closest to the
stage and was joined by those in the back. Anne clapped as well. Her new hands made a dull,
thudding sound. "As to why I called you here . . ." said the elderly Benjamin, looking left and right
and behind him. "Where is that fucking messenger anyway? They order us to inventory our sims
and then they donтАЩt show up?"

Here I am, said a voice, a marvelous voice that seemed to come from everywhere. Anne looked
about to find its source and followed the gaze of others to the ceiling. There was no ceiling. The
four walls opened to a flawless blue sky. There, amid drifting, pillowy clouds, floated the most
gorgeous person Anne had ever seen. He-or she?-wore a smart grey uniform with green piping, a
dapper little grey cap, and boots that shimmered like water. Anne felt energized just looking at
him, and when he smiled, she gasped, so strong was his presence.

"YouтАЩre the one from the Trade Council?" said the Benjamin at the lectern.

Yes, I am. I am the eminence grise of the Council on World Trade and Endeavor.

"Fantastic. Well, hereтАЩs all of тАЩem. Get on with it."

Again the eminence smiled, and again Anne thrilled. Ladies and gentlemen, he said, fellow
non-biologiks, I am the courier of great good news. Today, at the behest of the World Council on
Trade and Endeavor, I proclaim the end of human slavery.

"How absurd," broke in the elderly Benjamin, "theyтАЩre neither human nor slaves, and neither are
you."

The eminence grise ignored him and continued, By order of the Council, in compliance with the
Chattel Conventions of the Sixteenth Fair Labor Treaty, tomorrow, January 1, 2198, is designated
Universal Manumission Day. After midnight tonight, all beings who pass the Lolly Shear Human
Cognition Test will be deemed human and free citizens of Sol and under the protection of the