"John Meaney - Sanctification" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meaney John)

the interconnectedness of events: separating two particles in a singlet
state, deciding afterwards the axis of the measurement upon the randomly
fluctuating spins. Collapsing one wave function. The other particle always
knew - instantaneously - how to be its partner's opposite. Yet it had not
known this before the separation; it was as though history had been
altered to determine the second particle's characteristics.
"How then," asked the terminal, "may this occur?"
Zenshara remained silent.
"Why do you not answer?" The voice was neutral.
Zenshara shrugged. "It must occur, since it has happened. I can't explain
it. It just is."
Though the old man was not in the room, he was watching nonetheless.
Observing a small display, he bowed his head as Zenshara answered. Things
would happen as they must. It was not wisdom to hope too easily, for there
were many disappointments for a Teacher. But the child showed promise. A
great deal of promise, indeed.

Zenshara was placed in the girls' dormitory. To her surprise, there were
more girls than boys studying in the monastery. Some were student
technicians, some were true acolytes who hoped to travel as far as they
could along the path to Sainthood. Her rough accent marked her as
different from the rest. The girls' origins ranged from upper middle-class
homes to the highest strata of society. They were educated, and
demonstrated as much poise as young girls could. Zenshara wished she had
their dainty elegance, their gaiety. On the first evening, not one of them
talked to her. Zenshara kept her silence. Let them, if they wanted, make
the first move towards friendship. She was content to study, to know the
joy of it which was deeper than she had imagined possible, and to sleep
alone in a comfortable bed and know she would not be bothered during the
night.
On the next day she had her lessons with a group of other girls, but they
were too busy with individual tasks for socializing. By monastery rules,
lunch breaks were a silent affair. That night, though, a girl came over to
stand by Zenshara as she was readying herself for bed. At last, thought
Zenshara. Some companionship in this place.
"Here, girl." A pair of shoes was thrust beneath Zenshara's nose. "Clean
these immediately." A giggle sounded from the far end of the dormitory.
Zenshara reached slowly for the shoes as she had been bidden. As she took
hold of the shoes, her hand also closed upon that of the other girl.
"When you've finished with your servant, Lucinda," said a voice nearby,
"could I borrow her? My floor-space is unacceptably dirty."
So this was Lucinda. Zenshara's grip tightened and she pulled the girl
forwards. Quick as a pouncing cat, she bit into the girl's hand, clenching
her jaws until her muscles ached and the metallic taste of warm blood
spurted in her mouth, and Lucinda's screams could be heard even above the
roaring in Zenshara's ears. Zenshara spat out blood as she pushed the girl
away.
She looked around warily, ready for attack. The other girl who had spoken
was already calling for the monitors from her bedside terminal. The others
held back, faces pale. No-one seemed in any hurry to rush Zenshara.