"Frank Herbert - Operation Syndrome" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

The Gweduc Room pointed a plastine finger under Elliott Bay. Unseen by the patrons, a
cage compressed a high density of sea life over the transparent ceiling. illumabeams traversed
the water, treating the watchers to visions of a yellow salmon, a mauve perch, a pink
octopus, a blue jellyfish. At one end of the room, synthetic mother-of-pearl had been formed
into a giant open gweduc shell -- the stage. Colored spotlights splashed the backdrop with
ribbons of flame, blue shadows.
Eric went down the elevator, emerged in an atmosphere disturbingly reminiscent of his
nightmare. All it lacked was the singer. A waiter led him, threading a way through the dim
haze of perfumed cigarette smoke, between tables ringed by men in formal black, women in
gold lame, luminous synthetics. An aquamarine glow shimmered from the small round table tops
-- the only lights in the Gweduc Room other than spotlights on the stage and illumabeams in
the dark water overhead. A susurration of many voices hung on the air. Aromas of alcohol,
tobacco, perfumes, exotic seafoods layered the room, mingled with a perspirant undertone.
The table nestled in the second row, crowded on all sides. The waiter extricated a chair;
Eric sat down.
"Something to drink, sir?"
"Bombay Ale."
The waiter turned, merged into the gloom.
Eric tried to move his chair into a comfortable position, found it was wedged immovably
between two chairs behind him, A figure materialized out of the gloom across from him; he
recognized the busboy.
"Best I could get you, Doc."
"This is excellent." Eric smiled, fished a twenty-buck piece from his pocket, pressed it into
the other's hand.
"Anything I can do for you, Doc?"
"Would you tell Miss Lanai I'm here?"
"I'll try, Doc; but that Pete character has been watching her like a piece of prize property
all afternoon. Not that I wouldn't do the same thing myself, you understand."
White teeth flashed in the smoke-layered shadows. The busboy turned, weaved his way
back through the tables. The murmuring undercurrent of voices in the room damped out. Eric
turned toward the stage. A portly man in ebony and chalk-striped coveralls bent over the
microphone.
"Here's what you've been waiting for," he said. He gestured with his left hand. Spotlights
erased a shadow, revealing Colleen Lanai, her hands clasped in front of her. An old-fashioned
gown of electric blue to match her eyes sheathed the full curves.
 "Colleen Lanai!"
Applause washed over the room, subsided. The portly man gestured with his right hand.
Other spotlights flared, revealing Pete Serantis in black coveralls, leaning on his cane.
"Pete Serantis and -- "
He waited for a lesser frenzy of clapping to subside,
" ... The Musikron!"
A terminal spotlight illuminated a large metallic box behind Pete. The thin man limped around
the box, ducked, and disappeared inside. Colleen took the microphone from the announcer,
who bowed and stepped off the stage.
Eric became aware of a pressing mood of urgency in the room. He thought, "For a brief
instant we forget our fears, forget the Syndrome, everything except the music and this