"Dream Park" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

Tony McWhirter poured himself a big glass of orange juice and added a splash of vodka. "Do you want anything, Cas?" he called over his shoulder.
Acacia's eyes flamed at him, and she coyly raised the bedsheet up to her chin. "Lo que yo quiero no veine de la botella, hombre," she said.
He sipped from his drink as he crossed the room to the side of the bed. "That drink's too complicated for our limited bar facilities. What's it mean?"
"Why don't you put that drink down and find out?"
"No sooner said . . ." He lifted the glass and chug-a-lugged. His robe hit the floor with a rustle, his glass hit the dresser with a clink, and he landed on Acacia with a grin. "And what is your pleasure tonight, madam?"
"Well, I was thinking. .
"A pleasant change of pace, to be sure."
"Hush." She kissed him. "You know, you and I aren't going to be quite this secluded again for four days. Oh, we can snuggle in the sleeping bag, but. . ."
"You think maybe we should put a little something in the bank?"
She nodded. "For a rainy day."
"For a rainy day," he agreed. Rain and hurricane winds were attacking the windows, and phantom skeletons were passing through the room. The human occupants ignored them.
Chapter Five

THE NAMING OF NAMES




Midnight. Alex Griffin had stolen three hours of blissful unconsciousness before showering and tubing back to Dream Park. It wasn't quite enough. One of the quirks of an otherwise astoundingly healthy metabolism: he couldn't stay alert on less than eight hours sleep a night.
He'd sleep an extra hour tomorrow morning. Nobody would complain. Tonight was business.
Skip was dozing, chin on fist, elbow on table. Griffin pushed him slightly off balance and smiled as O'Brien jerked alert. "They're coming, Skip."
Skip said, "Right," in a voice that went from drowsy to alert in mid-syllable. His fingers smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his shirt. He was smiling 1~ightly when the foursome rounded the Corner.
Lopez and his wife Mitsuko were both radiant as children on
Christmas morning. They carried totebags over their shoulders, and behind them tottered the security guard, Albert Rice, hauling three more cases. Ms. Metesky brought up the rear, clucking with quiet disapproval.
"I didn't know they were bringing everything over right now, Alex," Metesky said petulantly. "They wouldn't even wait for a cargo 'bot."
"Sokay, Chief," Rice gasped, setting the cases on the floor. "I was there. No hassle."
"Good man. We'll take this stuff now." Alex hefted one of the cases. It was heavy. Alex wondered what was in them. They must have been checked out at the front gate of the R&D complex, but still...
When he looked up, Rice was still there, with a funny kind of half-smile on his face. Did he want something? Oh, yes, the break-in. Alex said, "I don't remember seeing your report on the damage."
O'Brien asked, "Anything valuable broken?"
"Well," Rice said carefully, "I'm not sure it was vandalism. I think it was attempted theft. I don't keep anything valuable in plain sight, just some personal effects. Even there," Rice's eyes met Alex's and held steady, "he didn't get anything valuable.
There were a few things he could have used, but he just skipped right past them. Then I guess he smashed a few things to prove he was irritated." He laughed a strained laugh. "Well, let me get back to my post. I'll see you later, Chief."
Alex watched Rice thoughtfully as he walked away. Funny vibes there. . . Metesky broke his train of thought with a harrumph. Alex turned to Lopez. "What have you got in those cases? Lead?"
Mitsuko hugged Richard's arm tight, and they giggled like kids.
"Mostly notes and resource material. Last minute entries for the computer. Secret stuff. It's all been checked out, Mr. Griffin."
"Alex, please. Well . . . have you met Mr. O'Brien? He's one of our top child psychologists."
"Then I can understand why he's here," Mitsuko smiled. "My husband is the oldest child present."
Skip shook Richard's hand firmly. "Most optometrists wear glasses, right? We'll have to compete for the title of 'oldest child'."
"No, thank you. I try to confine my competitive instincts to the
Games." Richard shifted his duffle bag on his shoulder, itchy with eagerness.
"Let's have mercy on these people and get them into Game Central," O'Brien said. Alex nodded and led the way.
The hallways of the Research and Development complex were nearly deserted. The entire building sat in the northwest corner of Dream Park, in section VI. It bordered Gaming Area A, looking out on 740 acres of magic. Game Central covered an entire floor of the five story building, and used close to 30% of Dream Park's total resources, whether measured in technicians, energy, or dollars.
Alex summoned an elevator, and the five of them went up to the second floor. Richard was nearly vibrating with enthusiasm. Mitsuko whispered something in his ear and he grinned wider, but quieted down. The elevator doors opened.
Two technicians in green smocks met them at the doors. One was stocky, with thin, quick fingers and lively eyes. "I'm Larry Chicon," he told them. "This is Dwight Welles, the other crazy you'll be dealing with."
Welles's round, unlined face belied his snowy hair. He had the firm grip of a much younger man. "Really pleased to meet you again, Mr. Lopez. I saw you for a few minutes last year. I want to congratulate you on the Game you've designed this year. May I ask how long it took you to put it together?"
"Two and a half years, if you count all of the preparatory research. If you mean just the actual programming, about a year."
Welles nodded, awed. "Well. As you already know, one of us will be available to you twenty-four hours a day in case of any emergency. This way, people, no need to keep you waiting."
Alex hung back, watching Mitsuko and Richard interact. There was a lot of love there, and a relationship based on a shared, extended childhood. Children, but genius children. That was a curious thing. They made so little of the incredibly complex task of designing a program for Gaming Area A. The logistics of it would have strained any human mind. Yet it was the Game itself that held their interest, not the myriad paths they traveled to reach it. The programming was a shadow-reality; the Game was reality itself.
Welles slid his ID card into the slot in a heavy steel door. It opened with a sigh.
Mitsuko's eyes turned buttery, and she stepped inside. "It's been so long. . ." she said to herself, hands touching panels.
The control room of Gaming Central was a technophile's dream. It was about fifteen by fifteen meters, and little of it was empty floor space. There was one great central control board facing two big dish-chairs with adjustable pneumatic cushions. Seven flat-screen viewers surrounded the room, but mounted directly above the main controls were two hologram projectors. The controls were gleaming steel, plastic and chrome; they all but begged to be stroked. If there was a single speck of dust in the room, it was nowhere in sight.