"Alastair Reynolds - Signal to Noise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

them. It looked like they were trying to snatch down the last few wisps of
cloud from the scratchless blue sky above Cardiff.

Mick had already seen Andrea standing a little further around the
curve of the lake. It was where they had agreed to meet, and true to form
Andrea was exactly on time. She stared pensively out across the water,
seemingly oblivious to the commotion going on around her. She wore a
white blouse, a knee-length burgundy skirt, sensible office shoes. Her hair
was shorter than he remembered, styled differently and barely reaching her
collar. For a moment—until she’d turned slightly—he hadn’t recognized her
at all. Andrea held a Starbucks coffee holder in one hand, and every now
and then she’d take a sip or glance at her wrist-watch. Mick was five
minutes late now, and he knew there was a risk Andrea would give up
waiting. But in the shade of the boating shed, all his certainties had
evaporated.

Andrea turned minutely. She glanced at her watch again. She sipped
from the coffee holder, tilting it back in a way that told Mick she’d finished
the last drop. He saw her looking around for a waste bin.

Mick stepped from the shade. He walked across the grass, onto
concrete, acutely conscious of the slow awkwardness of his gait. His
walking had improved since his first efforts, but it still felt as if he were trying
to walk upright in a swimming pool filled with treacle. Joe had assured him
that all his movements would become more normal as the nervelink
bedded in, but that process was obviously taking longer than anticipated.

“Andrea,” he said, sounding slurred and drunk and too loud, even to
his own ears.

She turned and met his eyes. There was a slight pause before she
smiled, and when she did, the smile wasn’t quite right, as if she’d been
asked to hold it too long for a photograph.

“Hello, Mick. I was beginning to think…”

“It’s okay.” He forced out each word with care, making sure it came
out right before moving to the next. “I just had some second thoughts.”
 “I don’t blame you. How does it feel?”

“A bit odd. It’ll get easier.”

“Yes, that’s what they told me.” She took another sip from the coffee,
even though it must have been empty. They were standing about two
meters apart, close enough to talk, close enough to look like two friends or
colleagues who’d bumped into each other around the lake.

“It’s really good of you…” Mick began.

Andrea shook her head urgently. “Please. It’s okay. We talked it over.