"Daniel Keys Moran - A Tale of the Continuing Time 02 - The Long Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

become a dominant force.
One of the fat women touched the dark pressure point marked five. The
pressure point lit. Behind the dark lenses Trent's eyelids drooped shut;
through the traceset contact buried in the arms of the sunglasses he sent a
single command to his Image.
The maglev descended five floors in relative silence, as people got on
and off the platform at the various levels. The tower in which the maglev
platform was located thrust up like a spear through the center of the
Down Plaza; the shops were arrayed in a rough rectangle around the
maglev tower. Hanging flat walkways connected the central maglev tower
to the shops at each level; skywalks connected the various levels for those
who preferred walking to using the maglev.
At Level Five, the maglev did not even slow. The two fat women broke
off their conversation in consternation; one of them touched the pressure
point for Level Five again. Trent said softly, "Ladies?"
They turned to look at him.
"Did you know that on Level One there's one of the finest gyms in the
city? And on Level Three there's a biosculptor who vacuums fat cells so
you can't get fat." Trent smiled at them. "Really. It's amazing, she just
vacuums those fat cells right out. Whoosh!"
The two fat women gaped at him. The platform had not stopped at
Level Five; it did at Level Six, and half a dozen of the maglev platform's
occupants got off; a couple more got on.
The gates closed again, and the platform descended.
"On Level Four there's three cafes that serve empty food, no calories at
all," Trent continued enthusiastically. "Lefthanded sugars; you can really
pig out." He stared at them with his sunglasses. "It doesn't taste exactly
the same, but that's not my fault."
Everybody left on the maglev platform was looking at them, at Trent
and the two fat women. The maglev platform skipped Level Seven, where
most of the small businesses were clustered, and opened up finally onto
Level Eight, the bottom level of the huge plaza. People filed off slowly,
stepping over or walking around the prone, twitching form of the juice
junkie who blocked the walkway from the maglev platform, looking back
as they did so at Trent and the French women. Trent turned to leave also
and then suddenly, just the other side of the maglev gates, turned around
to face the French women again.
 "Do you speak English?" he demanded.
The one nearest him said in English, haughtily, very clearly, "I do not
speak English."
"Oh." The maglev gates closed on the women, and the power on the
platform suddenly died. The platform went dark. "One hundred and
fifteen million people," said Trent in his best French, "died last year
because there wasn't enough food for them." Behind the gate, on the
maglev platform, the women were pushing frantically at the pressure
points. Trent did not think they had even heard him. He looked at them
for just a moment, stood watching them without expression from the
other side of the gates. The one who was not punching at the pressure
points suddenly became aware of Trent standing and watching them, and
pleaded in French, "Young man, will you call someone to let us out?"