"Michael Swanwick - The Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

sort of old and complex face that Rembrandt would have enjoyed painting. He poured with pulseless
ease and then dissolved into the gloom. "Good lord, Courtney, you seduced me on cheaper."

She flushed, not happily. Courtney had a better career going than I. She out-powered me. We both
knew who was smarter, better connected, more likely to end up in a corner office with the historically
significant antique desk. The only edge I had was that I was a male in a seller's market. It was enough.

"This is a business dinner, Donald," she said, "nothing more."

I favored her with an expression of polite disbelief I knew from experience she'd find infuriating. And,
digging into my pheasant, murmured, "Of course." We didn't say much of consequence until dessert,
when I finally asked, "So what's Loeb-Soffner up to these days?"

"Structuring a corporate expansion. Jim's putting together the financial side of the package, and I'm doing
personnel. You're being headhunted, Donald." She favored me with that feral little flash of teeth she made
when she saw something she wanted. Courtney wasn't a beautiful woman, far from it. But there was that
fierceness to her, that sense of something primal being held under tight and precarious control that made
her hot as hot to me. "You're talented, you're thuggish, and you're not too tightly nailed to your present
position. Those are all qualities we're looking for."

She dumped her purse on the table, took out a single-folded sheet of paper. "These are the terms I'm
offering." She placed it by my plate, attacked her torte with gusto.

I unfolded the paper. "This is a lateral transfer."

"Unlimited opportunity for advancement," she said with her mouth full, "if you've got the stuff."

"Mmm." I did a line-by-line of the benefits, all comparable to what I was getting now. My current salary
to the dollar—Ms. Soffner was showing off. And the stock options. "This can't be right. Not for a
lateral."

There was that grin again, like a glimpse of shark in murky waters. "I knew you'd like it. We're going
over the top with the options because we need your answer right away—tonight preferably.
Tomorrow at the latest. No negotiations. We have to put the package together fast. There's going to be a
shitstorm of publicity when this comes out. We want to have everything nailed down, present the fundies
and bleeding hearts with a fait accompli."

"My God, Courtney, what kind of monster do you have hold of now?"

"The biggest one in the world. Bigger than Apple. Bigger than Home Virtual. Bigger than HIVac-IV," she
said with relish. "Have you ever heard of Koestler Biological?"

I put my fork down.

"Koestler? You're peddling corpses now?"

"Please. Postanthropic biological resources." She said it lightly, with just the right touch of irony. Still, I
thought I detected a certain discomfort with the nature of her client's product.

"There's no money in it." I waved a hand toward our attentive waitstaff. "These guys must