"FWLS37" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

The door swung open with a mechanical hum. "Come right in,
man. Doc's in the back."

"I thought he wasn't home."

"Well, he just doesn't want to be disturbed, see? 'course,
your pal there, he's on the guest list, can come in any time.
Don't just stand around, get inside, I've got some closing to
do."

I lugged Twinkie inside, and the door shut behind me,
grumbling something about job satisfaction when the voice cut in.

"Hey!" the house said, in a high-pitched, cheery synth
voice. "It's Twinkie! Yoo hoo! Doc!"

There was a low grumbling, and a shadowy lurking figure
stomped into a doorframe.

"Yeah?" it rasped, voice aged with, well, age. "What's the
little bugger want? Two want some programs and stuff again?"

"I don't know, I'm just a house. Ask him."

"Who the hell are you?" Doc asked, shining a flashlight in
my eyes. I held up a hand (letting Twinkie slump a little) to
block the light.

"Chuck, sir. Umm, Twinkie here is having problems, and
asked me to bring him here--"

"House, gimmie some damn lighting, will you? I can't work
in pitch darkness, you know," Doc grumbled, lights clicking on.
I could finally see him.

He did not look well.

Eyes were bloodshot, back lumped, almost permanently in a
hunched-over-a-VOSNet-deck position. He was pretty short for a
human, with balding hair, combed around in a spiderweb sort of
style.

"Don't just stand there, pal, put Twink on the work table
already. Hmm. Band aids. He bump into a mugger with a high
powered blaster?"

"No, some engineering guys had to patch him up after he
freaked out in an arcade."

"Alright. Let's give him the lookover... Seems fine