"Kraus-WhiteWalls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kraus Stephen)

was the last one."

Jacobson paced between white walls, booties scuffing clean tiles. "Okay, Alice.
Detach it." He felt restless, distracted. His thoughts keep returning to the
thin young woman with the precise walk.

An electrical pulse set up a standing wave on the template. The strand it held
rippled irritably for a time, unwilling to leave the surface. Finally it lifted
clear.

"Encase it," Jacobson said. "Use a T-4 phage sheath. I'll be in my office. Let
me know when you're done."

His assistant turned away from her monitor. She always sat too close to the
display, and now it soaked her face in a dull amber glow. "Don't you want to
watch?"

But Jacobson was already cycling through the airlock.

"Cue to the interview."

The system complied. Julia walked through a sliding door into a bare room. The
entire ceiling shone, achingly bright. The director stood near the back wall
with his arms crossed. He wore a reflective fishbowl helmet and a loose white
suit that disguised his slight build. The airlock door slid shut. Julia's
security robot rolled unobtrusively into a corner. The two figures loomed in the
confined space.

The director walked in a circle, his arms still crossed.

"Julia Sholokov?" He spoke in a piping castrato tenor that lent his words an
incongruous enthusiasm.

She nodded and looked around nervously, perhaps for some place to sit down.
There was nothing.

"You're a dancer, am I right?"

"Yes. No. I was. I'm an Associated Municipalities conscript now."

The director waved her last comment aside. "Are you a good dancer?"

She didn't answer for a second. "I suppose so . . . sir."

He took a step closer to her. "Take off your suit."

"Pardon me?"

"Remove your coveralls, please."