"Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle - Fallen Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

was turned down to 55, as the law required, and the last thing she wanted
was to get out into the chilly air. Her arm snaked out from beneath the
comforter, groped for the phone set and pulled it under the covers with
her. The plastic was cold, but she was bundled in flannel and felt it only in
her hands.
"Dr. Hartley here." She winced. It was like holding an ice cube to her
ear.
"Sherrine?"
Not the University, after all. That really ticked her off. The 'danes who
signed her paycheck bought the right to wake her up, sometimes and for
some things; but ex-boyfriends did not. "Bob," she said, "do you know what
time it is?"
"Certainly. Two-forty-three. Plus or minus three sigma."
She sighed. Never ask a physicist a question like that. "What do you
want, Bob? And why can't it wait until morning?"
"I need you, Sherrine. Now."
"What? Look, Bob, that's all over." And why couldn't some men ever
believe that?
"I'll be there in five minutes."
"Bob!" But she was talking into a dead phone.
She thought about staying put under the comforter. It wouldn't help.
Bob Needleton was persistent. He was quite capable of standing on her
doorstep all night, banging on the door until she opened. Sometimes that
sort of persistence was invaluable. In the lab, for instance. Other times it
was just a pain in the ass.
Damn him. She was wearing heavy flannel socks, and she kept a pair of
wooly slippers under the sheets with her. She played contortionist for a
while finding them and putting them on. Then she slipped out of bed,
leaving the covers carefully in place so the bed would stay warm. A heavy
housecoat hung over the back of the chair next to the bed. She snuggled
into it and shivered her way to the bathroom.
he s coming out in the dead of night? The beanpole in the mirror did not
answer. Big nose. Big mouth. Not quite pretty. She could explain why Jake
left; but not why Bob wouldn't.

She opened the door on the first knock and stood out of the way. The
wind was whipping the ground snow in swirling circles. Some of it blew in
the door as Bob entered. She slammed the door behind him. The snow on
the floor decided to wait a while before melting. "Okay. You're here," she
snapped. "There's no fire and no place to sit. The bed's the only warm place
and you know it. I didn't know you were this hard up. And, by the way, I
don't have any company, thanks for asking." If Bob couldn't figure out
from that speech that she was pissed, he'd never win the prize as Mr.
Perception.
"I am that hard up," he said, moving closer. "Let's get it on."
"Say what?" Bob had never been one for subtle technique, but this was
pushing it. She tried to step back but his hands gripped her arms. They
were cold as ice, even through the housecoat. "Bob!" He pulled her to him
and buried his face in her hair.
"It's not what you think," he whispered. "We don't have time for this,