"Charles Stross - Trunk and Disorderly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

TRUNK AND DISORDERLY
by Charles Stross

Charles Stross has been in rehab since 2004, recovering from the
bad attack of singularitis that led to the Accelerando outbreak. His
doctors report that he is much improved since the excision of his
dot-com gland, and may eventually be capable of writing normal SF
again, under suitably controlled circumstances, although he is
unlikely ever to return to his previous proto-Ballardian normality.
The following story was discovered cunningly encoded in a scarf he
was crocheting at the clinic; we believe it may cast some light on his
illness.

****

1. In Which Laura Departs and Fiona Makes a Request

“I want you to know, darling, that I’m leaving you for another sex
robot—and she’s twice the man you’ll ever be,” Laura explained as she
flounced over to the front door, wafting an alluring aroma of mineral oil
behind her.

Our arguments always began like that: this one was following the
script perfectly. I followed her into the hall, unsure precisely what cue I’d
missed this time. “Laura—”

She stopped abruptly, a faint whine coming from her ornately
sculpted left knee. “I’m leaving,” she told me, deliberately pitching her voice
in a modish mechanical monotone. “You can’t stop me. You’re not paying
my maintenance. I’m a free woman, and I don’t have to put up with your
moods!”

The hell of it is, she was right. I’d been neglecting her lately, being
overly preoccupied with my next autocremation attempt. “I’m terribly sorry,”
I said. “But can we talk about this later? You don’t have to walk out right this
instant—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She jerked into motion again, reaching
for the door handle. “You’ve been ignoring me for months, darling: I’m sick
of trying to get through to you! You said last time that you’d try not to be so
distant, but look how that turned out.” She sighed and froze the pose for a
moment, the personification of glittering mechanistic melodrama. “You
didn’t mean it. I’m sick of waiting for you, Ralph! If you really loved me you’d
face up to the fact that you’re an obsessive-compulsive, and get your
wetware fixed so that you could pay me the attention I deserve. Until then,
I’m out of here!”

The door opened. She spun on one chromed stiletto heel, and swept
out of my life in a swish of antique Givenchy and ozone.