"Larry Niven & Steve Barnes - Achilles choice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

muscles tingled as the warm pulsing water dissolved knots of tension.
And as they showered, Jillian's multifunction personal data Simulacrum Beverly analyzed
her run. As always, Bev's critique was merciless and precise. As always, it was given in a
cunningly programmed Southern lilt.
"-compensating for the grade, your stride altered to twenty-three inches."
Jillian waited for the carefully crafted sounds of disapproval.
"Tsk, tsk, Jill. Is this the best you can do? We both know that twenty-five"-Beverly
pronounced the number twenny-fahve-"is optimum for your height and present weight."
Sean chortled. "Bev slays me."
"Energy," Jillian called, spitting water.
"Energy metabolism appears adequate . . ." A pregnant pause. "But you made a little
mistake, honey."
"And what was that?"
"When you tinkled this morning, I got a urine sample-"
Jillian grimaced, and whispered to Sean: "Remind me to disconnect the toilet monitor."
"Hah!"
"-and it looks to me like you snuck in a little snack since yesterday."
"Me? Me? How could you say such a thing?"
"Sugar," Bev said reprovingly. "Based on alkaloid content and protein chromatography, the
contraband was most likely a hot fudge sundae."
"Guilty as charged. Bravo, Beverly."
"Jillian, dear child, your nutritional profile is solid enough to survive an occasional
dalliance, but don't expect me to applaud."
Jillian toweled off as she left the shower, and watched as a holographic scan of her body
appeared in the air before her. Pools of color-coded glitter swirled in the image, displaying
circulation and muscle tension.
She lay stomach-down on her bed, eyes on the shimmering image. Sean knelt beside her.
His fingers were magical, easing knots of tension from places so tight they hadn't had
room to scream. She rolled over, and her towel fell away.
At the age of twenty-three, Jillian Shomer still seemed to have baby fat along her jaw,
unless she bit down hard to reveal the muscle protecting her neck. Her face, framed by short
blonde hair, was too strongly angular to be sheerly decorative, softened only by eyes which were
oak-brown with flecks of emerald. She might have been considered plain, except when smiling or
talking. In much the same way, her body was too solidly muscled, her subcutaneous fat pared too
finely for any classically feminine image. But when she was in motion . .
Ah, that was quite a different thing. In motion, Jillian was liquid light, a symphony of
power and grace, and ordinary standards simply didn't apply.
"Ultrasound analysis reveals a weakness in the left Achilles tendon, which is caused by
tension in the right hip flexor."
"Suggestion?"
"Twofold. First, postpone your plyometric speed drills while we run institute
rehabilitative lateral gastrocnemius exercise."
"Fine. And the second?"
Beverly paused, almost shyly. "Well, I'd recommend some form of massage to help your hips
relax, honey. Maybe that big burly hunk of a man has some suggestions."
Sean guffawed, rolled her and scooped her into his arms. "Cheating!" he said. "That's what
she always prescribes."


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