"Will McCarthy - Bloom" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCarty Sarah)

"My god, that's amazing. Can they do, well, for example, something like a conscience? Or a sense of
self-worth? The social implications could be staggering."

"I don't know."

A shrug; no real response, no emotional engagement. The question didn't interest him. Well, I could see
that Tosca Lehne wasn't going to be the easiest person in the worlds to talk to. Maybe Wallich was not
the only one in need of prosthetic laughter. Thinking to try a different approach, to get Lehne talking
about his work, I reached out to brush my fingers admiringly along Louis Pasteur's t-balance hull. I
pulled them back immediately, stinging. Quick inspection showed that they were bleeding: little jewels of
red beading out from dozens of tin slash wounds, as if I'd touched a tangle of miniature razor blades. I
gave a little grunt.

"Careful," Lehne said quietly. "It's sharp."

I showed him a surly grin. "So I see. You might have warned me.

He shrugged. "Didn't know you'd try to touch it. Yes, it's sharpтАФbe careful. Also toxic, mildly
radioactive. Don't eat. You know much about it?"

"No, not really."
"Oh," he said, and then just stood there eyeing me over. To his credit, he did look apologeticтАФnot
seeming to know quite what to make of me, what to say to me, what to do about me. I was not part of
his world.

"You can explain it to me sometime," I tried, smiling, I hoped, a bit more genuinely. "I'm very interested.
Meanwhile, is the rest of the crew around? I feel I should get to know everyone beforeтАж"

He was shaking his head. "No, not here right now. They come and go, busy, always busy, always busy.
That's life, eh? Come to dinner tonight, that's where you can meet everyone. Man and woman's got to
eat, right? Might as well synchronize. I'll tell you about t-balance sometime, if you really are interested.
It's technical, but I'll tell it to you. Would you like to see the ship?"

"Why I'm here," I agreed.

"Well, watch your head going in. Damn cargo hold, forced a redesign of the main airlock. Very urgent,
that cargo hold, along with everything else. Accelerated schedule, no time to really fix anything. And for
what? Dubious."

I shook my head. "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Ah, never mind," he said, turning away. "Nothing makes sense, they don't tell me things. This mission
stinks, I know that much."

I've often thought I should have asked him to elaborate on that remark.

Did he mean something beyond the obvious, beyond the danger and discomfort, beyond the arm-twisting
that had apparently brought him here? I didn't ask.

Instead, I let it roll off me, and followed him docilely into the ship.