"Lois Gresh - Termination Node" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gresh Lois)

"No way."

"—you wouldn't have to work under such pressure, Judy. My guys don't work half as hard as you do."

"Come on, you know how I feel about this."

"Be reasonable. Your fees are bleeding me dry. Besides, your name would add prestige to this place."

She didn't answer.

"Judy, you're not listening." Steve circled his desk, came too close, smelled faintly of soap and cologne.

She was keenly aware that she hadn't showered for two days. She backed away and edged toward the
door.

"I go it alone," she said, "always have."

"You've been working alone too long, Judy." He almost sounded sympathetic —like Rodriguez had
almost sounded charming. She wanted to believe that Steve was being real. But she knew better.

Nobody was real.

So why would she ever want to put up with them, day after day, face-to-face? She was an independent
contractor. A loner. It was better that way. No company politics. No company rules. No small talk and
drivel from personnel dragons.

Sure, Judy didn't actually have any close friends, Not off-line, at least. No boyfriend either. But that was
the price she paid for independence.

She didn't like thinking about it.

Steve's computer beeped. He moved back behind the desk, said, "Private," then picked up the phone
receiver on his deskmate and started warbling to some customer. The phone icon on his screen shivered
blue streaks as the computer transmitted Steve's words and received the customer's replies.

Judy was dismissed.

She left. Quickly.

Outside, the air was sweet with the scent from flowering shrubs that lined the parking lot. Hummingbirds
jammed their long beaks into the petals and sucked moisture. A butterfly sat, folding and unfolding its
yellow wings on the wide leaf of a banana tree.

This was reality. This was where Judy preferred to be. Relaxing, gazing for hours at the flowers and
hummingbirds and butterflies, at the ocean as it glazed the morning beach.

Judy wanted reality.

But Judy was a Net girl. She lived where reality was a wash of phosphors, where sleep didn't fit in.