"Spider Robinson - The Free Lunch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

could not afford that, not yet. He knew how to go to a place in his mind where nothing could reach him - but it
took great effort, and that particular muscle was nearly exhausted. He did it anyway. Maybe, if the gods were
kind, it would be the last time for a while.

He failed to notice when Firefall ended; where he was, fireworks were still going off. He was roused from his
autohypnotic trance by a minor commotion near him. The way he phrased it to himself was a disturbance in
The Force. He scanned the crowd around him and saw three smiling Cousins in their lemon jumpsuits
converging from afar like yellow corpuscles, without apparent haste or urgency but covering ground fast.
Behind them came two nonsmiling Dreamworld employees in street clothes: backstage personnel. For a
paranoid instant he thought they were after him, but then located their target a few meters away: an adult,
who had elected to watch Firefall reclining in a chaise lounge. Two Cousins were already kneeling beside her;
she must have been taken ill. One of them moved, and he got his first clear look at the elderly woman's face.
Just then the lighting in the local area changed in a subtle way; within seconds they were all in shadow.

But he had seen.

He heard the nearer Cousin sigh, and murmur, "God, look at her smile."

"She doesn't have to go home, now," the other said softly. "Ever. I wouldn't mind going like that myself, when
it's my time."

Then she looked up and saw him. She frowned, pasted a very good smile over it, put a finger to her lips, and
addressed him in a stage whisper. "This poor lady's exhausted - let's let her nap a minute, okay?"

He kept his face straight, nodded, and forced himself to leave the area nonchalantly, as though he had bought
her story. The last thing he needed was a Cousin deciding he was traumatized, putting an arm around him,
asking him questions for which he could no longer remember the lies he had prepared.

He'd intended to dawdle for an hour or so after Firefall, going on a few of his favorite rides for the last time
as a civilian. But all at once he felt he had been given a sign. Someone had died happy in Dreamworld. Time
to finish the last detail, and then get this done.

He drifted over toward the exit, picked out an attendant who looked sleepy, and tugged at his sleeve. "Mister,"
he said, gesturing vaguely behind him, "the Cousin over there asked me to say he needs you for a minute."

"Thanks, son." As he'd hoped, the attendant bought it and started away, looking around for a mythical Cousin.
The genuine Dreamband was already in his hand; hastily he used the attendant's abandoned wand to
deactivate it, and dropped it into the bin with the rest. He had rehearsed this part many times; he was done
well before the attendant stopped and glanced back for directions.

"I guess he changed his mind," he told the attendant. "Sorry."

"That's all right," the man said, resuming his station. "Thanks anyway. You leaving now or what?"
"No," he said, "not for a while," and went back inside.

He stopped at the first trash can he encountered, rummaged in the belly pack for the folded-up hat and false
nose, and stuffed them into his pants pockets. He zipped the pack back up, took it off, and dropped it in the
trash.

He felt an unexpected exhilaration as the lid swung closed. The last of the evidence was disposed of. The only