"James Van Pelt - Of Late I Dreamt of Venus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

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 Of Late I Dreamt of Venus


every day, maintaining joint flexibility, stretching muscles, reminding the
body that it was alive because really, really, Elizabeth Audrey, the richest
human being who ever lived, whose wealth purchased and sold nations,
whose power now stretched over generations, was mostly dead. A
whisper could end it.
Maybe in her dreams she heard that deadly voice caressing her, and
she would hear it for sure if she were a weaker woman, but if she did hear,
she ignored it. Instead she dreamed of Venus transformed. A vision big
enough for her ambition. A Venus fit for her feet. A planet done right,
not like old Earth, sputtering in its wastes. A Venus fit for a queen.

Elizabeth walked spinward in the carousel, the silky robe she
donned after the doctors revived her flapped against her bare legs. Two
hundred years didn’t feel bad, and the slimming in her waist gave her a
limberness she didn’t remember from before. The air smelled fresher
too, less metal-washed. It should, she thought. Much of her money was
devoted to research and development.
Henry joined her in the dining room for breakfast.
“What’s the progress?” she asked. Bacon and egg scents seeped
from the kitchen.
He smiled. “How did you sleep? How are you feeling? Good to
see you? It’s only been two centuries.”
Elizabeth waved the questions away. “Are we on schedule?”
Henry shrugged. “As we projected, the plans evolved. There have
been breakthroughs that make the job easier. We’ve shaded the planet
with a combination of solar shields, aluminum dust rail-gunned from the
moon, and both manned and unmanned reflective aerostat structures in
the upper atmosphere, cooling it considerably, although we have a long
way to go. An unforeseen benefit has been dry ice harvesting, which
we’ve been selling to the U.N.’s Mars project. Venus’ frozen greenhouse
gasses are heating Mars. Of course, the bombardment of asteroids and



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James Van Pelt


comets has been continuous.”
A young man, carrying a tray of covered plates, walked toward them
from the kitchen. He wore his dark hair short, and his loose, pale shirt
was buttoned all the way to his neck. He nodded at Henry as he put the
tray in front of them, but he seemed to avoid looking at Elizabeth.
Without waiting for thanks, he backed away.
“Who was that?” Elizabeth uncovered a steaming omelet.