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

you'd be along."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything. Remember last time, when you saved me from the mammoth?"
"Cost me three points for frostbite. I remember."
"Don't complain, it's mean. Anyway, I was very appreciative." She coiled her arm around him and
joined him in a rather strained lock-step toward the Dream Park shuttle.
She had been, he remembered, very appreciative. "One of your strong points," he said, and put his
arm around her. It felt disturbingly good, nestled there between warm curves. "Well, I'm glad
you're with us. We may need to pass you off as a virgin or something."
"Would you really?" she giggled. "I've always loved your imagination."
Chester didn't smile. "But, Gina . . . if you're in, you're going to have to follow orders a mite
more carefully. You almost screwed me good-stop that, I'm serious. This is extremely important to
me, all right?"
Gina looked up at him and her face grew almost serious. "Anything you say, Chester."
Chester groaned to himself as they boarded the train. She had skill; she was better than most
newcomers; she carried her weight and sometimes followed orders too. But she treated it like some
kind of goddam game.

Alex Griffin took his shuttle seat and settled back with eyes closed and arms folded comfortably.
He had long since learned the value of catching bits of rest where he could, and could catnap
during minutes most people spent fidgeting.
He stretched, and heard popping sounds as muscles and joints woke up. Small wonder they were still
half-asleep. Ten minutes earlier he had been snoring in his apartment at the Cowles Modular
Community, with the alarm buzzing in his ears. The third time it went off, it would refuse to shut
up until his 190 pounds were lifted from the sensor in the mattress.
He opened a sleepy green eye and watched the rear monitor as the cluster of buildings receded from
view. Five hundred Dream Park employees maintained residences in Cowles Modular Community, nestled
in the Little San Bernardino Mountains, fifteen kilometers and six shuttle minutes away from work.
Griffin was on call twenty-four hours a day, three weeks out of the month, and he appreciated the
convenience of CMC. But this morning was nothing special, just the usual 6:00 A.M. roust.
Alex rolled his wrist over to check the watch imprinted on his sleeve. (Expensive indulgence. Even
drycleaning eventually messed up the printed circuitry.) Three minutes until the shuttle slid into
the employee depot. He had about decided to close his eyes again when the picture in front of him
changed.
The woman on the flatscreen might have been beautiful by the light of noon. At 5:56 A.M. she was
evil incarnate. "Morning, Chief," she chirped, obscenely wide-awake.
"No. No, it isn't, Millicent." Alex yawned rudely, remotely disliking himself for it. He ran blunt
fingers through his light red hair and made a serious attempt to focus his eyes. "Oh, what the
hay. Maybe it is a good morning. Maybe it'll even be a good day. I'm sorry, Millicent. What's up?"
"Final prep for the South Seas Treasure Game tomorrow is the hottest item. You have some dossiers
to go over."
"I know. What else?"
She shook her head, her loosely curled afro bouncing a bit as she studied the computer display on
a second screen offscreen. "Umm. . . budget meeting with the Boss."
He was definitely more alert now. "Did I exceed Harmony's projected red last quarter?"
"Don't think so. Better not have. That's my department, and I don't make mistakes like that. Heh
heh."
"Heh heh. Well?"
"I think we're switching over from zero-base budgeting to some new system that Harmony is hot on."
"Oh, Lord. What else? Don't I have a class to teach today?"
"Yes. One o'clock, right after a scheduled lunch with O'Brien." Alex's face lit up. "Hallelujah. A