"C. S. Friedman - Downtime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

"Do you think it's going to pass Congress?" Marian asked.
"I don't know." She picked up a handful of diced onions and scattered them into the
"I hope not. The day we start "paying" parents for their services is the day . . . well,
will say a lot about how much is wrong with our society, won't it?"

The state offices of the DFO were on Main Street, in an old building that had once b
the county courthouse. Marion's eyes narrowed as she studied the place, first from
outside, then passing through its great double doors. You expected something associated
modern science to be in a building that was . . . well, modern. Gleaming sterile floors ins
of ancient hardwood, minimalistic cubicles instead of scarred wooden desks. Something.
was all wrong.
Or maybe anything would have seemed wrong today.
She paused in the outer lobby where approved vendors were allowed to showcase
wares, and Steve waited quietly beside her. The vast bank of brochures against one
seemed more appropriate for a tourist resort than a government office, and the broch
themselves were likewise colorful and sunny, promising services in perky catchphrases
were meant to make the alien seem reasonable. Give your parents the Time of their lives
have more time for your own. That one was from a travel agency which specialize
Time-intensive vacations, on the theory that people might be willing to accept less Time i
quality of the experience was outstanding. Wonder where your Time is going? ano
beckoned. That one was a lively color brochure which promised peace of mind in the for
special investigative services, which would track your parent's actions and provide a com
report when you . . . when you . . . well, when you could read it. And Time after Time off
counselors for parents, to help them organize the fragments of their "second life" in
meaningful whole.
She suddenly felt sick inside. Steve must have seen it in her face, for he whispered, "S
it's all right," and quietly took her hand.
It wasn't all right. It wasn't going to become all right either. But she'd be damned if s
start crying about it all over again • • . least of all here. "I'm okay." Wiping some moisture
her eyes she nodded toward the door to the DFO office. He took the hint and opened it
her. Sometimes little things like that helped. Just little signs that you weren't alone i
this. Thank God he had been willing to come down here with her.
The wait was long, but the place seemed well-organized and things were kept mov
Most of the people waiting were sitting m a common area reading brochures, or whispe
fearful questions to their spouses, siblings, friends. A few were just staring into space, li
child who knows that he's going to be given some unpleasant medicine, and that there's no
to get out of it. Most of them seemed to be holding numbers, spit out from a machine as an
as the building itself, and small plastic pails near each of the desks were full of the little p
tabs.
She registered with the main desk, telling the receptionist that she had an appointmen
Appraisal adjustment, then took a seat to wait. Steve just took her hand and waited with
There wasn't anything more he could do to help, and they both knew it.
After some time their number was called and they were ushered into a small office in
back of the building. The counselor greeted them with a smile that seemed genuinely w
though surely it was no more than a professional courtesy. How could you do a job like thi
day and keep smiling to the end of it? She was a small black woman with threads of s
overlaying the tight jet braids of her hair, and Marian guessed her to be about 50. Too old t
doing Time, if there was an alternative, and still too young to be needing it. The lines of
face bore witness to a caring nature, and Marian felt a spark of hope in her chest.
"I'm Madeline Francis," she said, and she had that kind of voice which seemed pleasan