"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Crunchers, Inc." - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

Which meant that Edith had more than her share of terminal offenses. SheтАЩd
actually dug through the hiring records to see if anyone had instructed quitters to
come to Edith, but so far she had found nothing.

She would have to look again.

Then she heaved a sigh and got up, heading toward ReginaldтАЩs office. She
had put on weight again, so moving wasnтАЩt as easy as it had been. She had eight
months before she was eligible for her third reduction surgery, so sheтАЩd either have
to lay off the Cheetos before bed or take a six-week cure.

The last time she took the six-week cure, she went down to her official,
government-recommended weight for two extra months, then gained every pound
back plus the friend that pound had probably been shacking up with. She could do
the old-fashioned starvation/exercise thing, but she wasnтАЩt an exercise kinda girl even
though she knew in fifteen years, sheтАЩd have to be at regulation weight or it would
count against her. She already had two black marksтАФmid-level management position
and no childrenтАФand she really couldnтАЩt afford another.

She pressed her palm against the doorknob to get in. The office had reset
itself when Reginald took his walking papers. The door unlocked, then eased open,
as if it were afraid to reveal the officeтАЩs interior.

The interior window had stayed shuttered, and so had the exterior window.
The office itself was dark. As she crossed the threshold, light rose slowlyтАФ
designed to replicate the moment of sunrise! the brochures had said, but mostly it
replicated the moment of irritation when she learned that she couldnтАЩt make the lights
come up any faster.

She had no idea how many times she had walked into this room, felt that same
irritation, wished she could alter the moment when she ordered the lights. Originally,
this had been her office. She hadnтАЩt been demoted, just moved, because the Brass
thought that perhaps a private office (with tons of extra security) would help
Actuarial Engineers stay at the job longer.

So far, it hadnтАЩt worked. Reginald had been the fifth AE to leave in the past
sixteen months.

She stood with her hands on her too-ample hips. He hadnтАЩt even personalized
the space. The wall across from him had two dozen screens, all of them scrolling
information in real time. His work desk had five more, slowed down to show the
problem accounts, and the vid unitтАФdigitized at optimal level for ReginaldтАЩs
personal myopiaтАФwasnтАЩt even turned on.

The chair remained at the height the last AE had left it at, the spaces on the
desk for photographs had dust, and the air-perfume was still set on Chanel, which
was the preference of at least two AEs ago. Reginald didnтАЩt strike her as a
Chanel-type guy. Maybe, with all this talk of horses, heтАЩd been a Bud and illegal
smokes sort, but he hadnтАЩt even set the air to imitate that.