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

environment. The extremely spare decor reinforced the impression created by the
place's very dimensions: bare space from carpet to ceiling, broken approximately
every forty meters by some exquisitely simple objet d'art of at least a
megabuck's value, appropriately displayed. An unadorned, perfect, white
porcelain bowl, over a thousand years old, on a rough cherrywood pedestal. An
arresting colour photograph of a snow-covered country road, silkscreened onto
stretched silver foil; the time of day changed as one walked past it. A crystal
globe, a meter in diameter, within which danced a hologram of the immortal
Shara Drummond; since she had ceased performing before the advent of holo
technology.
"Thank you, Phillip. Any topics to be sure and avoid?"
"Well ... don't bring up haemorrhoids."
"I didn't know one could."
He smiled. "Are we still on for lunch Thursday?"
"Unless you'd rather make it dinner."
One eyebrow lifted. "And breakfast?"
She appeared to consider it. "Brunch," she decided. He half-bowed and
stepped back. The elevator door closed and she forgot Phillip's existence.
Sentient beings are innumerable; I vow to save them all. The deluding
passions are limitless; I vow to extinguish them all. The truth is limitless; I --
The elevator door opened again, truncating the Vow of the Bodhisattva. She
had not felt the elevator stop -- yet she knew that she must have descended at
least a hundred meters. She left the elevator. The room was larger than she had
expected; nonetheless the big powered chair dominated it easily. The chair also
seemed to dominate -- at least visually -- its occupant. A misleading impression,
as he dominated all this massive home, everything in it and, to a great degree,
the country in which it stood. But he did not look like much.
A scent symphony was in progress, the cinnamon passage of Bulachevski's
"Childhood." It happened to be one of her personal favourites, and this
encouraged her.
"Hello, Senator."
"Hello, Mrs. Martin. Welcome to my home. Forgive me for not rising."
"Of course. It was most gracious of you to receive me."
"It is my pleasure and privilege. A man my age appreciates a chance to spend
time with a woman as beautiful and intelligent as yourself."
"Senator, how soon do we start talking to each other?"
He raised that part of his face which had once held an eyebrow.
"We haven't said anything yet that is true. You do not stand because you
cannot. Your gracious reception cost me three carefully hoarded favours and a
good deal of folding cash. More than the going rate; you are seeing me
reluctantly. You have at least eight mistresses that I know of, each of whom
makes me look like a dull matron. I concealed a warm corpse on the way here
because I dared not be late; my time is short and my business urgent. Can we
begin?"
She held her breath and prayed silently. Everything she had been able to learn
about the Senator told her that this was the correct way to approach him. But
was it?
 The mummy-like face fissured in a broad grin. "Right away. Mrs. Martin, I like
you and that's the truth. My time is short, too. What do you want of me?"
"Don't you know?"