"Ellen Datlow - The Fifth Omni Book of Science Fiction" - читать интересную книгу автора (Datlow Ellen)

as though in trance.
Their eyes were slits, their jaws were slack, their shoulders slumped forward, their arms dangled. Now
and then, as some combination of reflections sluiced across their consciousnesses with particular impact,
they would go taut and jerk and wince as if they had been struck. Their faces would flush, their lips
would pull back, their eyes would roll, they would mutter and whisper to themselves; then after a moment
they would slip back into stillness.
Cleo knew what they were doing. They were switching and doubling. Maybe some of the adepts were
tripling.
Her heart rate picked up. Her throat was very dry. What was the routine here? she wondered. Did you
just walk right out onto the floor and plug into the light patterns, or were you supposed to go to the bar
first for a shot or a snort?
She looked toward the bar. A dozen or so customers were sitting there, mostly men, a couple of them
openly studying her, giving her that new-girl-in-town stare. Cleo returned their gaze evenly, coolly,
blankly. Standard-looking men, reasonably attrac-
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tive, thirtyish or early fortyish, business suits, conventional hairstyles: young lawyers, executives, maybe
stockbrokers—successful sorts out for a night's fun, the kind of men you might run into anywhere. Look
at that one-tall, athletic, curly hair, glasses. Faint, ironic smile, easy, inquiring eyes. Almost professional.
And yet, and yet—behind that smooth, intelligent forehead, what strangenesses must teem and boil! How
many hidden souls must lurk and jostle! Scary. Tempting.
Irresistible.
Cleo resisted. Take it slow, take it slow. Instead of going to the bar, she moved out serenely among the
switchers on the floor, found an open space, centered herself, looked toward the mirrors on the far side
of the room. Legs apart, feet planted flat, shoulders forward. A turning globe splashed waves of red and
violet light, splintered a thousand times over into her upturned face.
Go. Go. Go. Go. You are Cleo. You are Judy. You are Vixen. You are Lisa. Go. Go. Go. Go.
Cascades of iridescence sweeping over the rim of her soul, battering at the walls of her identity. Come,
enter, drown me, split me, switch me. You are Cleo and Judy. You are Vixen and Lisa. You are Cleo
and Judy and Vixen and Lisa. Go. Go. Go.
Her head was spinning. Her eyes were blurring. The room gyrated around her.
Was this it? Was she splitting? Was she switching? Maybe so. Maybe the capacity was there in
everyone, even her, and all that it would take was the lights, the mirrors, the right ambience, the will.
/ am many. I am multiple. I am Cleo switching to
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Vixen. I am Judy, and I am —
No. I am Cleo.
I am Cleo.
I am very dizzy, and I am getting sick, and I am Cleo and only Cleo, as I have always been. I am Cleo
and only Cleo, and I am going to fall down.
"Easy," he said. "You okay?"
"Steadying up, I think. Whew!"
"Out-of-towner, eh?'*
"Sacramento. How'd you know?"
"Too quick on the floor. Locals all know better. Tfeis place has the fastest mirrors in the west. They'll
blow you away if you're not careful. You cant just go out there and grab for the big one-you've got to
phase yourself in slowly. You sure you're going to be okay?"
"I think so."
He was the tall man from the bar, the athletic, professorial one. She supposed he had caught her before
she had actually fallen, since she felt no bruises.
His hand rested easily now against her right elbow as he lightly steered her toward a table along the wall.