"Kelly,_James_Patrick_-_Ninety_Percent_of_Everything" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

"Liz, I need your expertise. When I see talent, I go after it -- you know that now. I like to keep my top talent focused. As long as you work for me, I'll try to see to it that you...." A bright green parrot dropped out of the trees and landed on the rail of our raft. "...that you live in a worry-free..." The parrot bobbed its head, turned sideways to examine us with a lustrous black eye. Wetherall hunched over and put his hand to his face.
"What's wrong?"
"I think that bird might be rigged for pix."
"Naah. Looks more like a bomb to me."
For a second I thought he might dive under the table.
"Oh, that was joke," he said. "Perhaps you could signal when you are making an attempt at humor?" He spun his hat at the parrot and it bounced off the netting. "Hey, you bird! _Raaah!_" At this, the parrot squawked and flew away.
"Anyway," he said, picking up the hat, "since I have access to certain resources, I was in a position to ease your transition from the university to my project."
"How many resources did it take?"
He shrugged. "When you get back, there should be a warm body sitting in the Wetherall Chair for the Study of Twentieth Century Popular Music."
"You mean like jazz? Rock and roll?"
"I have every record the Kinks ever made -- on the original vinyl."
I was a little dizzy. The thought of Saintjohn being pushed around like a baby in a stroller was vastly satisfying, and I couldn't help but feel a little exhilarated. With a wave of his hand Wetherall had made the job and the people I spent most of my days worrying about dissipate like a cloud of smoke.
On the other hand, I felt annoyed that, for a pile of cash and a pop-culture sinecure, the university would release me from rules they had never stopped telling me were inflexible. Here was a lesson in where I rated in relation to the world of money.
I set the avatar authorization aside for the time being and glanced at the next document. There was a cash card attached to a personal services contract. I separated the card and checked the balance. It was twice my annual salary.
"Wait a minute. I thought this was going to be a quick little consultancy. I'm a teacher. I'm not giving you more than six months, tops."
"I'm not asking you to," he said. "Six months should be more than enough. This is your first month's pay. In advance."
"You can't buy me, Wetherall," I said weakly, even though he knew that I knew that he already had.
The raft bumped against a waiter's station, guided by some unseen system. Our waiter stepped aboard briskly, set a plate in front of me and uncovered it with a flourish. "For you, Madam, Tranches de Jambon Morvandelle. And you, sir, a Mochalicious Jolly Freeze." He topped off our glasses. "Enjoy your meal."
* * * *
After dinner we strolled through the lobby of the Zones. Wetherall wasn't in his usual hurry to be off to some other appointment. After I'd signed his contracts, our dinner conversation had shifted to pleasantries. Until Wetherall mentioned my parents.
"Was it hard growing up without parents?" he asked.
"You know about that?"
"Yes."
I wasn't about to tell him any more than he needed to know. Especially since I didn't know what he'd spied out about me already. "Lots of children survive without parents. You grew up without a father, didn't you?"
Everyone knew the story of the impoverished childhood that had preceded his rise to wealth.
"Mother was resourceful. We didn't live too far from here -- in Colorado."
So we parried evasions for a while. Not that I cared about his childhood. I could see we were about as compatible as mustard and motor oil. We were standing near the doors when Dr. Blaine Thorp found us.
"Ah-hah!" he said, sticking out his hook accusingly.
"What's he doing here?" I said to Wetherall.
Thorp ignored me and turned to Wetherall. "So Professor Cobble has superseded me in your plans," he said. "I didn't realize that your work required the imprimatur of drab officialdom -- I thought you were a visionary!"
"Well, Blaine," said Wetherall, "even visionaries need something solid to stand on. Liz here is of the opinion that your science is rather shaky."
"You liken yourself to the jewels, and everyone else to the pile below!" thundered Thorp. "I wonder how Professor Cobble feels about that comparison."
"Oh, please," I said.
A reporter who'd been staking out Thorp as he staked out the lobby wheeled, his spex trained on us.
I turned to see Wetherall's reaction. There was none. He was gone.
* * * *
"You lunatic," I said to Thorp. "Why do we have to be in the same field? Why do we have to be on the same planet?"
"You suffer from what Freud called the 'narcissism of minor differences,' my dear," said Thorp. The reporter's spex reflected the overheads. I'd anticipated being linked with Wetherall in tomorrow's papers. Now it was going to look like I'd put on this gown for a date with a chiropractor with delusions of grandeur. I could already hear the laughter of my colleagues.
"I don't know that one." I glanced around the lobby, wondering if I'd really lost Wetherall. "But I'm sure you'll explain." Maybe he was lurking behind one of the marigold trees.
"Simply put, we most intensely dislike those with the greatest similarities to ourselves. They threaten us. Hindus hate Muslims, not Chinese, et cetera. Therefore, you despise me because I reflect your real choices: eccentric science, bizarre alliances."
"Where's the narcissism?"
"Have you glanced in a mirror recently?"
"More recently than you'd imagine."
"So, you feel undue love for those minor characteristics that define your difference from me -- primarily your academic sinecure -- while ignoring the central resemblance." Noticing the photographer, he struck a triumphant pose with his hook. "The irony is, your replacing me in Wetherall's regard was part of my plan."
"How can we replace you when you won't go away?" a voice broke in.
It was Wetherall, back again, trailed by Murk Janglish. Something was going awry with Wetherall's smartwig, and the hair was climbing up around his hat like a many-tendrilled octopus. Meanwhile Janglish was tugging awkwardly on Wetherall's elbow -- elbows seemed to be the lawyer's specialty. "Ramsdel," Janglish said, "Please. This isn't necessary. Your presence will only focus attention on this situation."
The reporter had that glazed look of deeply-gratified desire. The red light glinted in the corner of his spex.
"I'll go away when the secret of the jewels is revealed," Thorp said to Wetherall. "And you and Ms. Cobble are just the ones to do it for me. You'll work from the inside while I guide you from without. Together, the three of us -- "
"Together, the three of us will do nothing," Wetherall said.
"Mr. Wetherall," I said. "It's okay, I can handle him -- "