"Scott Westerfield - The Movements Of Her Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)

suit protect me?"The starship explained the physics of resistance fields to
her while checkingthe suit against safety specifications it had ,downloaded
that morning. It tookvery good care of Rathere.She had seen the huge behemoths
at breakfast, multiplied by the facets of thedome's cultured-diamond windows.
Two mares and a child swimming a few kilometersaway, leaving their glimmering
trails. The minder had noted her soft sigh, herdilated pupils, the sudden
increase in her heart rate. It had discovered thesuit rental agency with a
quick search of local services, and had guided herpast its offices on their
morning ramble through the human-habitable levels ofthe dome.Rathere's
reaction to the holographic advertising on the agency's wall hadmatched the
AI's prediction wonderfully: the widened eyes, the frozen step, themomentary
hyperventilation. The machine's internal model of Rathere, part of
itspedagogical software, grew more precise and replete every day. The software
wasdesigned for school tutors who interacted with their charges only a few
hours aday, but Rathere and the AI were constant companions. The feedback
between girland machine built with an unexpected intensity.And now, as the
pressure lock hissed and rumbled, the minder relished its newconfiguration;
its attenuated strands spiderwebbed across Rathere's flesh,intimate as never
before. It drank in the data greedily, like some thirstypolygraph recording
capillary dilation, skin conductivity, the shudders andtensions of every
muscle.Then the lock buzzed, and they swam out into the crushing,
planet-spanningocean, almost one creature.Isaah paced the tiny dimensions of
his starship. The elections could be a goldmine or a disaster. A radical
separatist party was creeping forward in thepolls, promising to shut off
interstellar trade. Their victory would generateseismically vast waves of
information. Prices and trade relationships wouldchange throughout the
Expansion. Even the radicals' defeat would rock distantmarkets, as funds
currently hedged against them heaved a sigh of relief.But the rich stakes had
drawn too much competition. Scoops like Isaah were inabundance here, and a
number of shipping consortia had sent their ownrepresentatives. Their ships
were stationed in orbit, bristling with courierdrones like nervous
porcupines.Isaah sighed, and stared into the planetary ocean's darkness.
Perhaps the era offreelance scoops was ending. The wild days of the early
Expansion seemed likethe distant past now. He'd read that one day drones would
shrink to the size ofa finger, with hundreds launched each day from every
system. Or a wave thatpropogated in metaspace would be discovered, and news
would spread at equalspeed in all directions, like the information cones of
lightspeed physics.When that happened, his small starship would become a rich
man's toy, itsprofitable use suddenly ended. Isaah called up the; airscreen
graphic of hisfinances. He was so close to owning his ship outright. Just one
more good scoop,or two, and he could retire to a life of travel among peaceful
worlds, perhapssearching for his lost wife, instead of darting among
emergencies andconflagrations. Maybe this trip ....Isaah drummed his fingers,
watching the hourly polls like a doctor whose patientis very near the
edge.Rathere and the AI swam every day, oblivious to politics, following
theglitter-trails of the behemoths. The huge animals excreted a constant wake
ofthe photoactive algae they used for ballast. When Rathere swam through
theseluminescent microorganisms, the shockwaves of her passage catalyzed
theirphotochemical reactions, a universe of swirling galaxies ignited by
everystroke.Rathere began to sculpt lightstorms in the phosphorescent medium.