"Alastair Reynolds - Revelation Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

his position should have been strengthened. But it had not worked like that. Not everyone who was
sympathetic to Alicia's side of the argument had managed to get aboard the Lorean before it left
orbit. And amongst those who had stayed behind, many previously sympathetic to Sylveste felt he
had handled the crisis badly, or even criminally. His enemies said that the things the Pattern
Jugglers had done to his head before he met the Shrouders were only now emerging into the light;
pathologies that bordered on madness. Research into the Amarantin had carried on, but with slowly
lessening momentum, while political differences and enmities widened beyond repair. Those with
residual loyalty to Alicia -- chief among them Girardieau -- had amalgamated into the
Inundationists. Sylveste's archaeologists had become steadily embittered, a siege-mentality setting
in. There had been deaths on both sides which were not easily explained as accidents. Now things
had reached a head, and Sylveste was in nowhere like the right place to resolve the crisis. 'But I
can't let go of that, either,' he said, indicating the obelisk. 'I need your advice, Cal. I'll get it because
you depend on me absolutely. You're fragile; remember that.'
Calvin stirred uneasily in the chair. 'So basically you're putting the squeeze on your old dad.
Charming.'
'No,' Sylveste said, through clenched teeth. 'What I'm saying is that you could fall into the wrong
hands unless you give me guidance. In mob terms you're just another member of our illustrious
clan.'
'Although you wouldn't necessarily agree, would you? By your reckoning I'm just a program, just
evocation. When are you going to let me take over your body again?'
'I wouldn't hold your breath.'
Calvin raised an admonishing finger. 'Don't get stroppy, son. It was you who invoked me, not the
other way around. Put me back in the lantern if you want. I'm happy enough.'
'I will. After you've advised me.'
Calvin leaned forward in the seat. 'Tell me what you did with my alpha-level simulation and I
might consider it.' He grinned, impishly. 'Hell, I might even tell you a few things about the Eighty
you don't know.'
'What happened,' Sylveste said, 'is seventy-nine innocent people died. There's no mystery to it.
But I don't hold you responsible. It would be like accusing a tyrant's photograph of war crimes.'
'I gave you sight, you ungrateful little sod.' The seat swivelled so that its high solid back was
facing Sylveste. 'I admit your eyes are hardly state of the art, but what could you expect?' The seat
spun round. Calvin was dressed like Sylveste now, his hair similarly styled and his face possessing
the same smooth cast. 'Tell me about the Shrouders,' he said. 'Tell me about your guilty secrets, son.
Tell me what really happened around Lascaille's Shroud, and not the pack of lies you've been
spinning since you got back.'
Sylveste moved to the escritoire, ready to flip out the cartridge. 'Wait,' Calvin said, holding up his
hands suddenly. 'You want my advice?'
'Finally, we're getting somewhere.'
'You can't let Girardieau win. If a coup's imminent, you need to be back in Cuvier. There you can
muster what little support you may have left.'
Sylveste looked through the crawler's window, towards the box grid. Shadows were crossing the
baulks -- workers deserting the dig, moving silently towards the sanctuary of the other crawler.
'This could be the most important find since we arrived.'
'And you may have to sacrifice it. If you keep Girardieau at bay, you'll at least have the luxury of
returning here and looking for it again. But if Girardieau wins, nothing you've found here will
matter a damn.'
 'I know,' Sylveste said. For a moment there was no animosity between them. Calvin's reasoning
was flawless, and it would have been churlish to pretend otherwise.
'Then will you be following my advice?'
He moved his hand to the escritoire, ready to eject the cartridge. 'I'll think about it.'