"John Varley - The Phantom of Kansas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

"Sixty percent?" I squawked. "Is that supposed to encourage me? Especially when you're dealing with a
master like my killer seems to be?"

She shook her head. "He's not a master. He's only determined. And that works against him, not for him.
The more single-mindedly he pursues you, the surer we are of catching him when he makes a slip. That
sixty percent figure is overall crime; on murder, the rate is ninety-eight. It's a crime of passion, usually
done by an amateur. The pros see no percentage in it, and they're right. The penalty is so steep it can
make a pauper of you, and your victim is back on the streets while you're still in court."

I thought that over, and found it made me feel better. My killer was not a criminal mastermind. I was not
being hunted by Fu Manchu or Professor Moriarty. He was only a person like myself, new to this
business. Something Fox 1 did had made him sufficiently angry to risk financial ruin to stalk and kill me. It
scaled him down to human dimensions.

"So now you're all ready to go out and get him?" Isadora sneered. I guess my thoughts were written on
my face. That, or she was consulting her script of our previous conversations.

"Why not? "I asked.

"Because, like I said, he'll get you. He might not be a pro but he's an expert on you. He knows how you'll
jump. One thing he thinks he knows is that you won't take

12 John Varley

my advice. He might be right outside your door, waiting for you to finish this conversation like you did
last time around. The last time, he wasn't there. This time he might be."

It sobered me. I glanced nervously at my door, which was guarded by eight different security systems
bought by Fox 3.

"Maybe you're right. So you want me just to stay here. For how long?"

"However long it takes. It may be a year. That four-lunation figure is the high point on a computer curve.
It tapers off to a virtual certainty in just over a year."

"Why didn't I stay here the last time?"

"A combination of foolish bravery, hatred, and a fear of boredom." She searched my eyes, trying to find
the words that would make me take the advice that Fox 3 had fatally refused. "I understand you're an
artist," she went on. "Why can't you just ... well, whatever it is artists do when they're thinking up a new
composition? Can't you work here in your apartment?"

How could I tell her that inspiration wasn't just something I could turn on at will? Weather sculpture is a
tenuous discipline. The visualization is difficult; you can't just try out a new idea the way you can with a
song, by picking it out on a piano or guitar. You can run a computer simulation, but you never really
know what you have until the tapes are run into the machines and you stand out there in the open field
and watch the storm take shape around you. And you don't get any practice sessions. It's expensive.

I've always needed long walks on the surface. My competitors can't understand why. They go for strolls