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

Intolerance by Robert Reed
Sometimes we'll assemble an issue of F&SF with a particular theme in mind, and sometimes a
theme will find us. This month it seems like most of the stories have some consideration of
parent-child relationships to them--perhaps none more so than Robert Reed's closer for the issue.
****
"Hey, I'm speaking to you. Yes, you, my friend. Are those mammoth ears attached to some kind of
neural network? Can you comprehend simple slow diction? I wish to be released on this approaching
corner. Pull over, yes, thank you. And will you help me with these damned straps? Mechanical strength is
not my strength, as you can plainly see."

The cab driver is a stocky fellow, sweating rivers despite the chill of the vehicle's air conditioning. He
turns to stare at his only passenger, jaw locked and his fleshy cheeks coloring. But he says nothing. He
forces himself to remain silent, one broad hand reaching warily for the straps' latch.

"You've grown weary of my company," the passenger observes. "You want me gone. You want me out
of your life. Well, I will abide in your heartfelt wishes. Never again will our paths cross, my friend. Until I
rule the world, of course, and then I will personally crush the likes of you."

The hand jumps back.

"The likes of me?" the driver whispers. Then louder, he asks, "What the hell do you know about me?"

"You judge," says the shrill little voice. "Despite a lifetime of red meat and cheap beer, you have survived
into your early fifties. The gold band on your finger promises a wife, but the absence of prominent digitals
implies that she isn't cherished. Nor are there any bright-faced children worthy of a father's pride. Judging
by the name filling up your license, you are Serbian. A genuine doormat race. The trace of an accent tells
me you came to this country as a teenage boy, probably during your homeland's last civil insurrection.
And judging by the little talismans scattered across your dashboard, you belong to some kind of fossilized
Christian faith. Which makes you both extremely superstitious and mindlessly conservative ... two very
nasty qualities for our modern world, I believe...!"

The driver squelches a curse.

The passenger laughs. "Does my little rant bother you? It is a problem, I can tell. That grunting, sweaty,
swollen, and outmoded body of yours conveys volumes. Your animal wishes are obvious. Right now, this
moment, you are picturing my frail body tossed beneath the next beer truck, crushed and dead. Is that
what you wish, sir? There is no point lying here, or in diluting the truth."

A thumb strikes the latch and the restraining belts fly off. Then the curbside door opens, and the driver
asks, "What the hell kind of creature are you?"

"A creature of ideas," the passenger exclaims with a toothy smile.

"Get out."

"I am doing just that. As fast as I can."

"Out!"

"But before I go ... let me tell you something true, my dear friend. We know exactly how the universe