"David Brin - Fourth Vacation of George Gustaf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David) Arial black 12
Font Font Color Font Size white Background Color The Fourth Vocation of George Gustaf By David Brin Another damn ritual club was holding a parade through Trafalgar Square when the floater-cab carrying Dan AnMan and Hamilton Smith entered the traffic circle. Hamilton stared gloomily at the parade as the robot taxi changed lanes, neatly dodging the brightly clad celebrants. "Bloody damn boring ritual clubs," Hamilton muttered to himself. This one seemed to have a Middle Eastern theme, the marchers stepping along to recorded tambourines. Banners hung limply and the participants seemed scarcely more aroused than the onlookers. He couldn't make out which club this was, though he recognized several individuals as frequent customers at the bank where he worked. Hamilton remembered that his ritual club, the Loyal Order of Rockers, was supposed to hold a parade of their own next month. He wasn't looking forward to getting into his twentieth-century motorcycle-gang attire, but there wasn't anything he every citizen. Hamilton looked at his assistant, the AnMan, who stared back with an android's fixed, translucent smile. "You're sure this fellow we're going to interview fits the criteria I set? I've only got a few hours this week to spend on my sociology avocation, Dan. I don't want to waste it interviewing someone who's just a statistical fluke." The AnMan's voicebox buzzed reassuringly. He opened his valise. "If you wish, I can go over the data again, Hamilton. Of our random sampling, this man Farrell Cooper shows a level of satisfaction with his ritual club that is two standard deviations above average. I feel certain he fits the criteria." Hamilton was still uneasy. Although he was a fully licensed amateur sociologist, he didn't like invading people's homes to interview them. What if he interrupted this Cooper fellow while he was busy at one of his avocations? Or worse, at work on his Vocation? No one liked having his Vocation interrupted... the few hours a week one got to do something that had "professional" status. Hamilton always hated it when some amateur bothered him during his precious hours as a real, honest-to-god banker. He would much rather be at the bank now, being a professional, than pursuing this silly sociology hobby. But android labor had made real work for humans a rationed commodity. To use up the rest of the time, the law required that every citizen take up a half-dozen pastimes. Though as an amateur sociologist he understood the need for such a law, Hamilton sometimes found himself hating it. The floater swept by Buckingham Museum, past dusty statues of heroes from the time of the Social Amalgamation. Picnickers lounged on the wide lawn, filling the |
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