"Larry Niven & Steve Barnes - Dreampark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

decades California had been another word for conservatism.
Skip squeezed her hand. "I couldn't get the L-5 plans, Alex."
"Problems?"
"You'll love this. Security problems. It would be the first privately owned space colony, and
there are a stack of international treaties to search through. Public support would help, and
we're getting it from everywhere but California."
Alex drained the last of his ale and set the mug down with a clank. "I suppose you've heard all
about this mess, Melinda?"
"Just what Skip brings home with him, and that isn't much."
"It's like this, then. California has been firmly on its feet for more than a decade now. A few
Southern Cal politicos think that this would be a good time to strip away some of Cowles
Industries' tax advantages. See, we're just another business to them now. They think they don't
need us any more. Besides, a tax break always looks good to the voters till they see what they're
giving up." Alex's anger was eating through the calm, and he lowered his voice. "So we've got to
walk soft. We can hold onto what we've got, maybe, but expansion is going to be difficult. We're
just too high-profile, too easy a target."
Skip nodded. "What it adds up to is that all the big projects are being kept quiet until the
details are worked out. So if you want a look at those plans, you'll have to go and sign for them
yourself."
Griffin made a sound of disgust. Then, "I should be glad they're tightening up. Security
consciousness around here has been sloppy. I think we may have to have a real problem before
Harmony gives me the word to tighten up on the rumor mill." He looked at his sleeve-watch and
winced. "Oh dear oh dear, the Queen will have my head! Skip, I've got to teach a class in about
three minutes. Melinda-" He shook her hand with the gentlest of grips. "Always a pleasure. Skip, I
think Lopez-tomorrow's Game Master . . . ?" Skip nodded recognition of the name. "Well, he's
coming into Game Central tonight, and I for one want to check him out. Want to drop by? It might
be interesting."
"Sure. About midnight, isn't it?"
"You've got it. Okay, I'll see you tonight."

Gwen leaned against the rail of the Hot Spot refreshment stand across the way from the Everest
Slalom exit. She was drinking a Swiss Treat special: coffee and cocoa generously topped with
marshmallowed whipped cream. It was taking the chill from her bones fast. Her muscles were
beginning to quiver with belated fatigue. Dream Park's automatic controls made mistakes almost
impossible. Otherwise the ski run down Mount Everest was a damnably realistic experience.
Acacia was talking animatedly with an older couple. "I do the Everest Slalom every time I come
here. I'm getting better, too. Eighty-five percent control this time. But, by God, that's the
first time they ever threw a baby yeti at me! There he was, right in front of me, all fluffy white
fur and big trusting blue eyes. I damn near slammed a tree getting around him. . ."
Gwen watched a strolling band of acrobats perform their flip-flops and joined in the applause,
wishing that she had kept up with the gymnastics that her mother had pushed her into at the tender
age of five. Her thumb traced a line over the bulge around her waist, and she cast a wistful eye
at Acacia's trim figure. Gwen compared her own wispy blond hair to the dark girl's lush brown
mane. Even Margie Braddon's hair, though white, was long and thick; and her wrinkles were all
smile wrinkles, and her figure was enviable. Envy was what Gwen felt now.
Gwen Ryder didn't often dwell on the differences between herself and other women. Most of the time
she considered comparison-shopping either odiously self-congratulatory or self-pitying. She liked
her mind in neither mode. But there was a four-day jaunt ahead, and romances were known to bloom
or die during such, and Gwen wondered.