"Michael Swanwick - Radiant Doors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

"Not a scrap. But that's not my determination, is it? You have to read each and
every word in each and every report so that you can swear and attest that they
contain nothing the Commission needs to know."

"Right." I ran a scanner over the universals for each of the files, and dumped the
lot in the circular file. Touched a thumb to one of the new padsтАУbetter security
devices were the very first benefit we'd gotten from all that influx of future
techтАУand said, "Done."

Then I linked my hands behind my neck and leaned back in the chair. The air
smelled of canvas. Sometimes it seemed that the entire universe smelled of
canvas. "So how are things with you?"

"About what you'd expect. I spent the morning interviewing vics."

"Better you than me. I'm applying for a transfer to Publications. Out of these
tents, out of the camps, into a nice little editorship somewhere, writing press
releases and articles for the Sunday magazines. Cushy job, my very own cubby,
and the satisfaction of knowing I'm doing some good for a change."

"It won't work," Shriver said. "All these stories simply blunt the capacity for
feeling. There's even a term for it. It's called compassion fatigue. After a certain
point you begin to blame the vic for making you hear about it."

I wriggled in the chair, as if trying to make myself more comfortable, and stuck
out my breasts a little bit more. Shriver sucked in his breath. Quietly, thoughтАУI'm
absolutely sure he thought I didn't notice. I said, "Hadn't you better get back to
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Michael%20Swanwick%20-%20Radiant%20Doors.htm (2 of 21) [12/30/2004 8:07:58 PM]
 Radiant Doors by Michael Swanwick This story first appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, September 1998


work?"

Shriver exhaled. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you." Looking unhappy, he ducked under the
flap out into the corridor. A second later his head popped back in, grinning. "Oh,
hey, GinnyтАУalmost forgot. Huong is on sick roster. Gevorkian said to tell you
you're covering for her this afternoon, debriefing vics."

"Bastard!"

He chuckled, and was gone.

I sat interviewing a woman whose face was a mask etched with the aftermath of
horror. She was absolutely cooperative. They all were. Terrifyingly so. They were
grateful for anything and everything. Sometimes I wanted to strike the poor
bastards in the face, just to see if I could get a human reaction out of them. But
they'd probably kiss my hand for not doing anything worse.

"What do you know about midpoint-based engineering? Gnat relays? Sub-local
mathematics?"