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

face. The drinkers shifted restlessly, chattering and laughing, like danc-ers pantomiming a party in some
light opera, and the eyes danced with them. They flitted from person to person, materi-alizing now here,
now there, surfacing whenever an individ-ual chanced to look her way.



She heard a quiet voice say, "We were fated to be lovers."



Go away, go away, go away, Elin thought furiously, and the hallucination ceased.
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




After a moment spent composing herself, Elin quietly slipped around to where Landis sat. "I'm leaving in
the morning," she said. The new persona had taken; they would not remove her facepaint until just before
the lift up, but that was mere formality. She was cleared to leave.



Landis looked up, and for an instant the woman's doubt and suffering were writ plain on her face. Then
the mask was back, and she smiled. "Just stay away from experimental religion, hey kid?" They hugged
briefly. "And remember what I told you about stubbing your toes."



There was one final temptation to be faced. Sitting in the hut, Tory's terminal in her lap, Elin let the
soothing green light of its alphanumerics wash over her. She thought of Tory, of his lean body under hers
in the pale blue earthlight. "We were meant to be lovers," he'd said. She thought of life without him.



The terminal was the only artifact Tory had left behind that held any sense of his spirit. It had been his
plaything, his diary, and his toolbox, and its memory still held the Trojan horse programs he had been
working with when he was-transformed.



One of those programs, she knew, would make her a god.



She stared up through the ivy at the domed sky. Only a few stars were visible between the black
silhouetted leaves, and these winked off and on with the small movements she made breathing. She
thought back to Coral's statement that Elin would soon join her, merging into the unselfed, autistic state
that only Tory's meddling had spared her.