"John Morressy - Rimrunners Home" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

offered a better method of reacculturation than POP had yet devised. Here one
could see others and yet remain apart. Companionship could be had when it was
desired and endured no longer than it pleased.

Open spaces brimming with the sounds and smells of life drew Vanderhorst on long
solitary walks. He sat for hours on a hillside, or under a tree, his back
against the rough bark, absorbing his surroundings. One entire morning he passed
listening to birdsong, and once he glimpsed a hawk. He spent his days out of
doors regardless of the weather. The warmth of sun or the cool touch of rain on
his upturned face were equally welcome. The nightly return of familiar stars was
assurance.

He dined elaborately with a companion engaged for the evening. There was no talk
of social relations or government approval. Sometimes he chose to end the day
alone.

Silverhill offered an oversized circumferential hollie unit for each lodge. The
hollies had made great advances since his last time downside, and Vanderhorst
found the sensation fascinating. Not long before, he had been wrapped in the
vast emptiness of the fringes of interstellar space. Now he could immerse
himself in a simulacrum of life. At the center of a swarm of humans that
appeared as real as himself, he could participate in the intrigues and
assignations of the mighty, be a witness to famous events, a partner to history
and romance; he could enjoy any experience he could conceive. And all came and
went at his will, for the touching of a button.

One crisp and cloudless night he returned to his lodge and found the message
light flashing. His first reaction was surprise, which turned almost at once to
anger. He pressed the transmit plate. A smiling face appeared on the small
screen.

"My message signal is on. Is it a mistake?"

"No, sir. The message was received at 21:27."

"Who was it?"

"The caller left no name, sir. It was voice only, no visual."

"Are you sure it was for me?"
"It was for the gentleman in Frostwood Lodge, sir. The caller left a number for
you to call."

"I don't want any messages. Don't connect anybody, understand?"

"You will not be disturbed, sir."

Vanderhorst was at Silverhill under a carefully maintained false identity, using
a supposedly untraceable credit line. Damn POP and their meddling, he thought.
I'm done with them until briefing time, and I want their claws out of my hide.