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

"In a manner of speaking. Linguistics. Metalin-guistics, actually. My field is the language of language—the
basic subsets, the neural coordinates of communication, the underlying programs our brains use, the
operating systems. Mind as computer, com-
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puter as mind. I can get very boring about it."
"I don't find the mind a boring subject."
"I don't find real estate a boring subject. Talk to me about second mortgages and triple-net leases."
"Talk to me about Chomsky and Benjamin Whorf," she said.
His eyes widened. "You've heard of Benjamin Whorf?"
"I majored in comparative linguistics. That was before real estate."
"Just my lousy luck," he said. "I get a chance to find out what's hot in the shopping-center market and she
wants to talk about Whorf and Chomsky."
"I thought every other woman you met these days was a real-estate broker. Talk to them about shopping
centers."
"They all want to talk about Whorf and Chomsky. More intellectual."
"Poor Van."
"Yes. Poor Van." Then he leaned forward and said, his tone softening, "You know, I shouldn't have
made that crack about Van meeting Cleo. That was very tacky of me."
"It's okay, Van. I didn't take it seriously."
"You seemed to. You were very upset."
"Well, maybe at first. But then I saw you were just horsing around."
"I still shouldn't have said it. You were absolutely right: This is Judy's time now. Cleo's not here, and
that's just fine. It's Judy I want to get to know."
"You will," she said. "But you can meet Cleo, too, and Lisa and Vixen. I'll introduce you to the whole
crew. I don't mind."
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"You're sure of that?"
"Sure."
"Some of us are very secretive about our alters."
"Are you?" Cleo asked.
"Sometimes. Sometimes not."
"I don't mind. Maybe you'll meet some of mine tonight." She glanced toward the center of the floor. "I
think I've steadied up now. I'd like to try the mirrors again."
"Switching?"
"Doubling," she said. "I'd like to bring Vixen up. She can do the drinking, and I can do the talking. Will it
bother you if she's here, too?"
"Won't bother me unless she's a sloppy drunk. Or a mean one."
"I can keep control of her when we're doubling. Come on, take me through the mirrors."
"You be careful now. San Francisco mirrors aren't like Sacramento ones. You've already discovered
that."
"I'll watch my step this time. Shall we go out there?"
"Sure," he said.
As they began to move out onto the floor a slender, T-shirted man of about thirty came toward them.
Shaven scalp, bushy mustache, medallions, boots. Very San Francisco, very gay. He frowned at Cleo
and stared straightforwardly at Van.
"Ned?"
Van scowled and shook his head. "No. Not now."
"Sorry. Very sorry. I should have realized." The shaven-headed man flushed and hurried away.
"Let's go," Van said to Cleo.
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