"Charles Stross - Ancient Of Days" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

"I think we ought to investigate this carefully," he said. There were times when she
hated his imperturbability; just this once it was a shred of comfort. "It sounds like the kind of
intrigue that could affect us if we ignore it – the dinosaurs still have fangs."
"Huh." She shook her head and stepped out of the tub. "Will you stop speaking in
tongues and give me a straight answer for once?" She reached out and gently cupped his
cheek in her hand. "What's worrying you, love? All the old stories coming back to haunt you?"
"No, it's not that." He stood up, accidentally dislodging her hand in the process. "It's
just a nagging feeling I've got." His face hardened slightly, so that the soft, pampered look of
the mathematics professor was eclipsed for an instant by some harsher, more primal
expression of his identity. "Maybe we should look into precisely what the HGP group are
working on for their industrial grant. I doubt that the Ancients would be interested if it was
harmless to us. But there might be something we can spot which your spook wasn't educated
to identify. Something that will put the program in an entirely different perspective."

***
 Helena, assistant to Ancient of Days, nevertheless didn't live in the tunnels alongside
with her mistress; she had a daylight identity and a job that payed the bills the night-blind
humans levied in return for warmth and peace among them. After the meeting broke up she
found herself inviting Kristoph back to her house: she deliberately refrained from exploring
her motives. Kristoph, for reasons of his own, accepted the invitation.
Perhaps it was the remembered chill of the news that Ancient of Days had borne, or
perhaps the central heating was malfunctioning; in either case, the hall was cold as she took
off her coat and hung it behind the door. "Something to drink, perhaps?" she asked as he
patiently scraped his boots on the doormat. "Or some coffee?"
"A drink would be great." Kristoph unbuttoned his coat and hesitated a moment
before hanging it on the door. She heard him test the Yale lock before he turned and followed
her into the living room. "You live here alone?"
She shrugged and bent down over the sideboard. The stereo was still switched on
and the room filled with the faint strains of Vivaldi. Two tumblers of scotch appeared, followed
by ice from a small refrigerator. "I like to keep the world at a distance," she said, turning to
pass him one of the glasses. "I'm no lonelier than I want to be."
"And how lonely is that?"
"You're here. There've been others, but none of them cared to compete for my
attention with Her."
"Ah." Kristoph sat down at one side of the sofa, then glanced at her enquiringly. She
took a mouthful of burning spirit in order to cover her indecision, then quickly sat down next to
him.
Presently Kristoph asked, "Did you choose to serve Her, or did she choose you?" He
stared into his glass and swirled the thin layer of liquid around until the bottom was exposed.
"I mean, I wasn't aware that She has any tradition of priestly attendance ..."
"She doesn't. And to answer your question, I didn't choose to serve her, and she
didn't choose me. It just happened." Helena stared at his glass for a moment in fascination.
"Are you going to drink that?" she asked.
"Eventually. I'm sorry, it's just a bad habit of mine. One of my acquaintances said I
was like a cat; I play with my food. I can't remember when that was, but it was some years
ago." He glanced up and stared moodily at the window-sill. "I try to cultivate my private
eccentricities. They're a kind of defense, if you will, against this modern habit of living in
crowds. It strikes me that the bigger the city you live in, the more anonymous you become. It's
as if it's an infectious disease, and the most common side-effect is loneliness."
"Perhaps you're right." She rubbed her cheek reflectively. "I certainly don't know of