"Stephen Kraus - White Walls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kraus Stephen)

WHITE WALLS
By Stephen Kraus

****

“RUN THAT AGAIN,” JACOBSON said.

The system obliged immediately, respectful of Jacobson’s priority. The image
on the monitor reset to the first security checkpoint. Fish-eyed optics stared out
through glass doors to a broad plaza lined with olive trees. The glass doors opened,
and a single figure walked through uncertainly. The camera zoomed in, focused. The
camera-robot’s point of view was only a few centimeters off the floor: the subject
seemed to taper upwards, face all nostrils.

The robot scuttled backward on rubber treads. The figure framed in its
camera-eye was clearly female now from the less extreme angle. The robot issued a
command, repeated it. The woman followed hesitantly, glancing back toward the
checkpoint and the glass doors and the sunlight beyond.

The robot’s servos whined. For a moment, the woman’s dark, frightened eyes
stared straight into the camera. Jacobson flinched, as if she could see him watching.
She brushed her long black hair back nervously with her hand, seeking protection in
its thickness and its familiarity. Her face was striking — fine, sharp-boned features
with a distant, mournful look. But it was her walk that held Jacobson’s attention:
tuned, exact, every movement under absolute control. The clean precision of her
steps and the swing of her arms and hips made him realize how complex a process
walking really was, and how badly most people did it.

The mild summer afternoon, still visible through the doors behind her,
vanished as she turned a corner. She moved between white walls now, raked by
fluorescent glare. The harsh light bled all the color from her narrow face; the planes
and angles of her cheekbones shone hard as knives.

Jacobson leaned back in his chair, tented his fingers. Except for the display,
his office was dark. There were no windows, no carpeting, only blank enamel-white
walls too distant to reflect the glow from the monitor.

“Subject’s name?” Jacobson asked. He wondered why he was watching this
sequence. He’d just happened on it by chance while browsing through the system.
Her name wasn’t any of his business.

“Establish your need to know.”

“I have none. Tell me anyway.”

The system hesitated for a moment. “Julia Sholokov.”
 “Why is she here?”

“She’s a subject for robot articulation studies. Transferred from Santa
Clara.”