"Robert Reed - 555" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

"But I could see your thoughts," she warned. "Of course I can see what
you're thinking. Are you forgetting who I am?"
"No, ma'am."
Again, Claudia was pacing.
"Wholesale changes," she growled.
For an instant, I wondered why she was speaking like this. To me, of all
the souls to confide in. And then I saw a good reason, a warm feeling
taking hold of my soul. Of course! My mistress was worried about me...!
"Ratings," she muttered.
"Pardon me?"
Claudia hit one of the golden walls with a fist, muttering, "Ratings are
down. Everybody's scared. They're afraid we've overstayed our welcome
with the real world."
She always referred to the other realm as "the real world."
"Panic," she said to the wall. "I see it in their faces."
I had no doubts that she saw panic. Claudia's emotion-discrimination
algorithms are the very best in two worlds.
"I shouldn't tell you any of this, Joan."
"I won't repeat a word," I promised, unsure whom I would entrust with
any important news. My own social calendar was quite limited.
"A revolution will come to the City," said Claudia, in disgust. "The Old
Guard is going to be swept away, and the little people take over. To bring
'a freshness' to the stories, they say. Those ugly shit bastards--!"
"Swept away?"
"That's an expression. The other world has a lot of dirt, and everything
needs a lot of cleaning." She pretended to breathe, and her brown face
tightened, and while not quite looking at me, she asked, "Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Don't play naove," she warned. "Given the chance: Would you, or
wouldn't you?"
I am naove, but I'm not stupid. The purpose of this conversation was
suddenly obvious, and the only possible answer was to promise my
undying devotion to my mistress.
"'Undying,'" Claudia repeated. "What an interesting, silly word that is."
I nodded, my little smile fading. In reflex, I looked out my window at
that great long sliver of the City.
Then with a contemptuous snort, my mistress said, "Well, it won't
happen anyway. I won't let it happen."
"Good," I began to say.
"Because I'll talk to the Producer next. We're going to have a little
conference of our own, and when I'm finished, you can be sure, he isn't
going to feel like killing anyone but a few of his ugly little writers."
Claudia's face and most of her body are based on some long-ago actress
whom the Producer still adores. The two of them enjoy frequent
conferences and meetings; nobody else can make that claim. Which, I
suppose, is just another reason why Claudia commands such power in this
world: Through delicate and extremely sophisticated technological means,
she can win God's affections.
"Don't worry," was her final advice to me.
"I won't worry," I lied. And then I was suddenly alone in my office, with