"Michael Swanwick - Vacumn Flowers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

nodded.
тАЬOkay, once you get there, go to the Storage and
Maintenance gate. Tell them you want work as a
scraperтАФweтАЩre always short-handed; theyтАЩll give it to you.
Mention my name so they put you on the right crew. ItтАЩs all
piecework; they donтАЩt care diddly-squat whether you put
in a full shift. IтАЩll have them issue you vacuum gear against
my account. That clear? Think you can do that?тАЭ
Her body took a deep breath. Her voice said, тАЬYeah.тАЭ
***
Rebel was scraping vacuum flowers off the surface of
Eros when she came up from under.
It was dull, nasty work. The shiny blue blossoms were
surprisingly elusive. Her visor polarized out glare, turning
the bright flowers into a field of black stars. She had to
reach into darkness to find them. Their stems were as thin
as wires and tougher. Worst of all, the gravity was so slight
that a careless move would send her bounding meters
away. She hovered over the rock, keeping afloat with
touches of toe and finger as she angled her clippers under
each bloom. Her muscles ached with tension and fatigue.
The inside of her vacuum suit stank, and her collecting
bag was only half full. It dragged behind her like the
abdomen of a queen bee. Her helmet buzzed with voices as
the work gang traded chitchat on the intercom channel.
тАЬтАж and I swear no lie,тАЭ a male voice drawled, тАЬI was the
suavest thing on two legs. They throw in a hardpacket of
etiquette with the persona, you with me? So I know what
fork you use to pick your nose with, and all. Not only was I
suave out in public, I was even suave sexing it up
afterwards.тАЭ
тАЬOh yeah? Maybe I oughta try you out,тАЭ said an amused
female voice.
тАЬTamara, honey, the onliest thing less likely than me
sexing you up is me admitting to sexing you up.тАЭ Hoots of
laughter. тАЬYou get one of your menfriends to try this
program, though. I mean that.тАЭ
тАЬHell,тАЭ went a second female voice, тАЬone of TamaraтАЩs
 menfriends gets suave, and heтАЩllтАФтАЭ
She snapped off the intercom. Something was shifting
within her, and she didnтАЩt know who she was, Eucrasia or
Rebel. Rebel or Eucrasia. тАЬLet go,тАЭ she whispered
savagely, and she was herself again: Rebel. But a sense of
her other self lingered, hovering over her. She hunched
her shoulders and ignored it as best she could and kept on
scraping flowers.
The work was soothing. Her fingers moved with a will of
their own, clipping flowers and stuffing them into the
mesh bag at a regular, efficient rate. Ahead of her, endless
mats of vacuum flowers unfolded to the horizon, each