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

quizzically, as if she were: being too glib. She pauseda moment, editing the
rest of the quote in her head."The poor can think of nothing else but money,"
she said carefully. "That is themisery of being poor."Darien smiled at her,
which -- impossibly t made him even more beautiful."Or the misery of being
rich, unless one is a fool," he said.There was no applause for the exchange,
but Rathere again felt the ripple ofmagic that her pilfered pronouncements
created. The ancient words blended withher exotic looks and accent, never
failing to entertain the oligarchs' children,who thought her very deep
indeed.Others in the party were looking down into the asteroid field now,
murmuring toeach other as they pointed out the mining craft making its careful
progress.The fat boy scowled at the changed mood in the room. He pulled aside
the gaudygenital jewelry that they all (even Rathere) affected, and let loose
a stream ofpiss onto the floor."Here you go, then. Recycled champagne!" he
said, grinning as he waited for alaugh.The crowd turned away with a few weary
sighs, ignoring the icy baubles of urinethat pitched into the void."Where was
that one from?" Rathere sub-vocalized."Mr. Wilde.""Him again? He's
awesome.""I'll move him to the top of the search stack.""Perhaps we'll read
some more of Lady Windemere's Fan tonight," she whisperedinto her bubbling
flute.Although Rathere knew how to read text, she had never really explored
thelibrary before. After that first week on the ring, saved from embarrassment
adozen times by the AI's promptings, she dreamed of the old words whispered
intoher ear by a ghost, as if the minder had grown suddenly ancient and vastly
wise.The library was certainly bigger than she had imagined. Its ocean of
wordsseemed to stretch infinitely, filled with currents that swirled in
elaboratedances about all possible notions, their attendant variations, and
everyimaginable objection.Rathere and the AI started reading late at night.
Together they wandered theendless territory of words, using as landmarks the
witticisms and observationsthey had borrowed that day for some riposte. The AI
decompressed still more ofits pedagogical software to render annotations,
summaries, translations. Ratherefelt the new words moving her, becoming part
of her.She was soon a favorite on the orbital. Her exotic beauty and archaic
humor hadattracted quite a following by the time Isaah decided to ship out
from theorbital ring -- a week earlier than planned -- wary of Rathere's
strange newpowers over sophisticates who had never given merchant-class Isaah
a secondglance.On board his ship was one last cargo. His profits were
considerable but -- asalways -- not enough. So the ship carried a hidden cache
of exotic weaponry,ceremonial but still illegal. Isaah didn't usually deal in
contraband,especially arms, but his small starship had no cargo manifold, only
an extrasleeping cabin, empty since his wife's disappearance. The cabin wasn't
largeenough to make legitimate cargos profitable. Isaah was very close now
toreaching his dream. With this successful trade, he could return to the
LocalCluster as master of his own ship.He spent the journey pacing, and
projected his worry upon the rising Turinglevel of his ship's AI unit. He
spent frustrated hours searching itsdocumentation software for an explanation.
What was going on?Isaah knew, if only instinctively, that the AI's expanding
intelligence wassomehow his daughter's fault. She was growing and changing
too, slipping awayfrom him. He felt lonely when Rathere whispered to herself
on board ship,talking to the voice in her head. He felt...outnumbered.On the
customs orbital at their goal, Isaah was called aside after a short and(he had
thought) prefunctory search of the starship. The customs agent held himby one