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

salute. "For up-time contraband." A sewn tag over one pocket proclaimed his
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 Radiant Doors by Michael Swanwick This story first appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, September 1998


name to be PATHAK. "It is purely standard, I assure you."

I counted the stripes on his arm, compared them to my civilian GS-rating and
determined that by the convoluted UN protocols under which we operated, I
outranked him.

"Sergeant-Major Pathak. You and I both know that all foreign nationals operate
on American soil under sufferance, and the strict understanding that you have no
authority whatsoever over native civilians."

"Oh, but this was cleared with your Mr.тАУ"

"I don't give a good goddamn if you cleared it with the fucking Dalai Lama! This
is my officeтАУyour authority ends at the door. You have no more right to be here
than I have to finger-search your goddamn rectum. Do you follow me?"

He flushed angrily, but said nothing.

All the while, his fellows were running their detectors over the file cabinet, the
storage closets, my desk. Little lights on each flashed red red red. Negative
negative negative. The soldiers kept their eyes averted from me. Pretending they
couldn't hear a word.

I reamed their sergeant-major out but good. Then, when the office had been
thoroughly scanned and the two noncoms were standing about uneasily,
wondering how long they'd be kept here, I dismissed

the lot. They were all three so grateful to get away from me that nobody asked to
examine my purse. Which was, of course, where I had the device.

After they left, I thought about young Sergeant-Major Pathak. I wondered what
he would have done if I'd put my hand on his crotch and made a crude suggestion.
No, make that an order. He looked to be a real straight arrow. He'd squirm for
sure. It was an alarmingly pleasant fantasy.

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 Radiant Doors by Michael Swanwick This story first appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, September 1998


I thought it through several times in detail, all the while holding the gizmo in my
lap and stroking it like a cat.

The next morning, there was an incident at Food Processing. One of the women
started screaming when they tried to inject a microminiaturized identi-chip under
the skin of her forehead. It was a new system they'd come up with that was