"Spider Robinson - Melancholy Elephants" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

Melancholy Elephants (v1.1)

Spider Robinson, 1998


She sat zazen, concentrating on not concentrating, until it was time to prepare
for the appointment. Sitting seemed to produce the usual serenity, put
everything in perspective. Her hand did not tremble as she applied her make-up;
tranquil features looked back at her from the mirror. She was mildly surprised, in
fact, at just how calm she was, until she got out of the hotel elevator at the
garage level and the mugger made his play. She killed him instead of disabling
him. Which was obviously not a measured, balanced action -- the official fuss and
paperwork could make her late. Annoyed at herself, she stuffed the corpse under
a shiny new Westinghouse roadable whose owner she knew to be in Luna, and
continued on to her own car. This would have to be squared later, and it would
cost. No help for it -- she fought to regain at least the semblance of tranquillity as
her car emerged from the garage and turned north. Nothing must interfere with
this meeting, or with her role in it.
Dozens of man-years and God knows how many dollars, she thought,
funneling down to perhaps a half hour of conversation. All the effort, all the hope.
Insignificant on the scale of the Great Wheel, of course ... but when you balance
it all on a half hour of talk, it's like balancing a stereo cartridge on a needlepoint.
It only takes a gram or so of weight to wear out a piece of diamond. I must be
harder than diamond.
Rather than clear a window and watch Washington, D.C. roll by beneath her
car, she turned on the television. She absorbed and integrated the news, on the
chance that there might be some late-breaking item she could turn to her
advantage in the conversation to come; none developed. Shortly the car
addressed her: "Grounding, ma'am. I.D. eyeball request." When the car landed
she cleared and then opened her window, presented her pass and I.D. to a
Marine in dress blues, and was cleared at once. At the Marine's direction she re-
opaqued the window and surrendered control of her car to the house computer,
and when the car parked itself and powered down she got out without haste. A
man she knew was waiting to meet her, smiling.
"Dorothy, it's good to see you again."
"Hello, Phillip. Good of you to meet me."
"You look lovely this evening."
"You're too kind." She did not chafe at the meaningless pleasantries. She
needed Phil's support, or she might. But she did reflect on how many, many
sentences have been worn smooth with use, rendered meaningless by centuries
of repetition. It was by no means a new thought.
"If you'll come with me, he'll see you at once."
"Thank you, Phillip." She wanted to ask what the old man's mood was, but
knew it would put Phil in an impossible position.
"I rather think your luck is good; the old man seems to be in excellent spirits
tonight."
She smiled her thanks, and decided that if and when Phil got around to making
his pass she would accept him. The corridors through which he led her then were
broad and high and long; the building dated back to a time of cheap power. Even
in Washington, few others would have dared to live in such an energy-wasteful