"Michael Swanwick - Trojan Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

Yes.



With a roaring of waters and a shattering of rocks, with an audible thump, the world returned.



Elin unsteadily climbed down the last flight of stone stairs from the terraces to the lake-front. She passed
by two guards at the foot of the stairs, their facepaint as hastily applied as their programming, several
more on the way to the nearest trellis farm. They were everywhere since the incident.



She found the ladder up into the farm and began climbing. It was biological night, and the agtechs were
long gone.



Hand over hand she climbed, as far and high as she could, until she was afraid she would miss a rung
and tumble off. Then she swung herself onto a ledge, wedging herself be-tween strawberry and yam
planters. She looked down on the island, and though she was dizzyingly high, she was only a third of the
way up.



"Now what the hell am I doing here?" she mumbled to herself.



She swung her legs back and forth, answered her own question: "Being a piss-ass drunk." She cackled.
There was something she didn't have to share with Coral. She was capable of getting absolutely blitzed
and walking away from the bar before it hit her. It was something metabolic.



Below, Tory and Coral sat quietly on their monkey island. They did not touch, did not make love or hold
hands or even glance at one another-they just sat. Being gods.



Elin squinted down at the two. "Like to upchuck all over you," she mumbled. Then she squeezed her
eyes and fists tight, drawing tears and pain. Dammit, Tory!