"Walter Jon Williams - The Bob Dylan Solution" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

can only cause discord and division. The nation requires unity, vigor, affirmation. We hope the people will
hear that positive message."

The phrase discord and division jogs Robertson's memory; he's heard it before. He realizes the voice is
that of the President.

"Thank you, sir."

"Bless you, Mr. Robertson." The President--or his voice--hangs up. For a moment Robertson listens to
the distant whispers and clicks of the world's communication network, then puts the phone gently on its
cradle.

Was that really the President? he wonders. Or was it someone--maybe someone in Lizard
Records--with a simulacrum of the President's voice?

Or was the President himself a simulacrum?

Robertson decides it doesn't much matter.

He sleeps very well.
7
"Thanks for breakfast. I hope I wasn't imposing."

"Not at all, man." Sorrel is smiling as he shrugs into his denim vest. He reaches into a pocket and takes
out a pair of Ray-Bans, puts them on his nose. Velda, dressed in tennis whites, follows them out the
door, a racket dangling in her hand.

"It was delicious," Robertson says. "I haven't had a shrimp omelette in years."

"Velda's recipe."

Robertson opens the door of his Maserati. He looks from his car to the bike and back. "You're heading
for the studio, right?"

"Yeah."

"So am I." He gives Sorrel a grin. "Think you can beat me?"

Sorrel laughs. "The way I can weave in traffic? You crazy?"

"A hundred bucks?"

Delight spreads across Sorrel's face. "Whatever you say, man. But I'll beat you by half an hour. I've been
going down that canyon road every morning at a hundred twenty klicks."

Robertson reaches for his cellular phone. "Let me just make a call first. Let people know I'm coming."

Velda steps up to Sorrel, kisses him goodbye. "Be careful," he says. "You know how I worry."

"I can take care of myself," says Sorrel.