"John Varley - Pusher" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

didn't you?" When he smiled, she broke into giggles. She was doing the pointless things with her
hands that little girls do. He thought she had a pretty good idea of how cute she was, but no
inkling of her forbidden eroticism. She was a ripe seed with sexuality ready to burst to
the surface. Her body was a bony sketch, a framework on which to build a woman.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"That's a secret. What happened to your nose?"
"I broke it a long time ago. I'll bet you're twelve."
She giggled, then nodded. Eleven, then. And just barely.
"Do you want some candy?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink-and-white-
striped paper bag.
She shook her head solemnly. "My mother says not to take candy from strangers."
"But we're not strangers. I'm Ian, the pusher."
She thought that over. While she hesitated, he reached into the bag and picked out a
chocolate thing so thick and gooey it was almost obscene. He bit into it, forcing himself to chew.
He hated sweets.
"Okay," she said, and reached toward the bag. He pulled it away. She looked at him in
innocent surprise.
"I just thought of something," he said. "I don't know your name. So I guess we are
strangers."
She caught on to the game when she saw the twinkle in his eye. He'd practiced that. It was
a good twinkle.
"My name is Radiant. Radiant Shining star Smith."
"A very fancy name," he said, thinking how names had changed. "For a very pretty girl." He
paused, and cocked his head. "No. I don't think so. You're Radiant . . . Starr. With two r's. . .
. Captain Radiant Starr, of the Star Patrol."
She was dubious for a moment. He wondered if he'd judged her wrong. Perhaps she was really
Miz Radiant Fainting heart Belle, or Mrs. Radiant Motherhood. But her fingernails were a bit dirty
for that.
She pointed a finger at him and made a Donald Duck sound as her thumb worked back and
forth. He put his hand to his heart and fell over sideways, and she dissolved in laughter. She was


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careful, however, to keep her weapon firmly trained on him.
"And you'd better give me that candy or I'll shoot you again."

The playground was darker now, and not so crowded. She sat beside him on the bench, swinging her
legs. Her bare feet did not quite touch the dirt.
She was going to be quite beautiful. He could see it clearly in her face. As for the body
. . . who could tell?
Not that he really gave a damn.
She was dressed in a little of this and a little of that, worn here and there without much
regard for his concepts of modesty. Many of the children wore nothing. It had been something of a
shock when he arrived. Now he was almost used to it, but he still thought it incautious on the
part of her parents. Did they really think the world was that safe, to let an eleven year-old girl
go practically naked in a public place?
He sat there listening to her prattle about her friends-the ones she hated and the one or
two she simply adored-with only part of his attention.