"Brad Ferguson - The Forever Con" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferguson Brad)

There were about thirty or forty old people gathered in the common
room. Several couples were slow-dancing to classic rock ‘n roll tunes that
had remained popular since their first release fifty years before and more.
Others were seated around tables playing games. Kevin Biederbecke easily
recognized Monopoly and Challenge, but there were other groups playing
games that involved only oddly-shaped dice and many pieces of paper.
“Roleplaying,” Dr. Poffenberger said to Kevin’s unasked question.
“Mostly dungeon-and-dwarves stuff. Sometimes a single adventure takes
years to complete.”
“They have the time now,” Kevin said, nodding.
Over in the corner, a group of six laughing women were singing a
nonsense song while making appropriate gestures:

“If you’re happy and you know it,
point your ears!
If you’re happy and you know it, point your ears!
If you’re happy and you know it,
Then here’s the way to show it —
If you’re happy and you know it, point your ears!
Point your ears!”
 “Trekkies?” Kevin asked.
“That’s right,” Dr. Poffenberger said. “Unfortunately, they have to
amuse themselves more and more often, because it’s getting hard to find
good guests for them. Actually, we’re rather hoping — ”
“What’s that supposed to be?” Ms. Biederbecke snapped, point at an
antique phone booth standing in the corner of the room.
“Oh,” Dr. Poffenberger said. “That’s the Tardis. The Doctor Who fans
are rebuilding it again. I suppose they’ve knocked off for lunch.”
“They’ve got it all wrong,” Ms. Biederbecke sniffed. “For one thing, the
door opens the other way out. Amateurs!”
“What are your favorite activities back in Mount Willow, Ms.
Biederbecke?” asked Dr. Poffenberger.
The old lady shrugged, still examining the Tardis. “I don’t much care for
the Who stuff, but I dabble in it from time to time. I do some Star Trek
once in a while, when I can stand it — mostly Third Generation, though. I
used to edit a Quantum Leap slashzine, too, until my eyes started getting
a little funny.”
“Have you ever thought about perhaps trying a facility in another
genre?” Dr. Poffenberger asked. “Say, one of the romance homes?”
“Are you kidding?” Ms. Biederbecke said, shocked. “Gafiate? Me? Why,
I’ve been involved in fanac for fifty-seven years, young man — !”
“I’m sorry — ”
“A romance resort?” she snapped. “Get my thrills by being chased
around the corridors by old coots wearing armor they make themselves
out of tinfoil? Well, I never! Kevin, take me home. Right now.”
“Please, Ms. Biederbecke — !” Dr. Poffenberger began.
“I thought these people were serious, Kevin.” She sniffed. “You misled
me, son. I really didn’t want to come down here at all, you know.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Kevin said sheepishly. “Let’s go back.”
“Ms. Biederbecke, I do most sincerely apologize,” the doctor said. “I