"David Marusek - The Wedding Album" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marusek David)

moments of disorientation are the worst, they told her, and they made her promise never to reset
them back to default. Otherwise, they’d have to work everything through from scratch. So Anne
never reset her sims when she shelved them. She might delete a sim outright for whatever reason,
but she never reset them because you never knew when you’d wake up one day a sim yourself.
Like today.

The other Anne joined them. She was sagging a little. "Well," she said to Anne.

"Indeed!" replied Anne.

"Turn around," said the other Anne, twirling her hand, "I want to see."

Anne was pleased to oblige. Then she said, "Your turn," and the other Anne modeled for her, and
she was delighted at how the gown looked on her, though the goggles somewhat spoiled the
effect. Maybe this can work out, she thought, I am enjoying myself so. "Let’s go see us
side-by-side," she said, leading the way to the mirror on the wall. The mirror was large, mounted
high, and tilted forward so you saw yourself as from above. But simulated mirrors cast no
reflections, and Anne was happily disappointed.

"Oh," said Cathy, "Look at that."

"Look at what?" said Anne.

"Grandma’s vase," said the other Anne. On the mantle beneath the mirror stood Anne’s most
precious possession, a delicate vase cut from pellucid blue crystal. Anne’s great-great-great
grandmother had commissioned the Belgian master, Bollinger, the finest glass maker in
sixteenth-century Europe, to make it. Five hundred years later, it was as perfect as the day it was
cut.

"Indeed!" said Anne, for the sim vase seemed to radiate an inner light. Through some trick or glitch
of the simogram, it sparkled like a lake under moonlight, and, seeing it, Anne felt incandescent.

After a while, the other Anne said, "Well?" Implicit in this question was a whole standard set of
questions that boiled down to-shall I keep you or delete you now? For sometimes a sim didn’t
take. Sometimes a sim was cast while Anne was in a mood, and the sim suffered irreconcilable
guilt or unassuagable despondency and had to be mercifully destroyed. It was better to do this
immediately, or so all the Annes had agreed.

And Anne understood the urgency, what with the reception still in progress and the bride and
groom, though frazzled, still wearing their finery. They might do another casting if necessary. "I’ll
be okay," Anne said. "In fact, if it’s always like this, I’ll be terrific."

Anne, through the impenetrable goggles, studied her. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"Sister," said the other Anne. Anne addressed all her sims as "sister," and now Anne, herself, was
being so addressed. "Sister," said the other Anne, "this has got to work out. I need you."

"I know," said Anne, "I’m your wedding day."