"Michael Swanwick - Vacumn Flowers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

but suicide later. Now the corporation that owned her had
decided she should die yet again, in order to fuel a million
throwaway lives over the next few months.
But Rebel Elizabeth Mudlark knew none of this. She
knew only that something was wrong and that nobody
would talk to her about it.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
The doctor’s face loomed over her. It was thin and
covered by a demon mask of red and green wetware paint
that she could almost read. It had that horrible
programmed smile that was supposed to be reassuring,
the corners of the mouth pushing his cheeks into little
round balls. He directed that death’s head rictus at her.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said.
A line of nuns floated by overhead, their breasts bobbing
innocently, wimples starched and white. They were riding
the magnetic line at the axis of the city cannister, as
graceful as small ships. It was a common enough sight,
even a homey one. But then Rebel’s perception did a
flipflop and the nuns were unspeakably alien, floating
upside-down against the vast window walls that were cold
with endless stretches of bright glittery stars embedded in
 night. She must have seen the like a thousand times
before, but now, without warning, her mind shrieked
strange strange strange and she couldn’t make heads or
tails of what she was seeing. “I can’t remember things,”
Rebel said. “Sometimes I’m not even sure who I am.”
“Well, that’s perfectly normal,” the doctor said, “under
the circumstances.” He disappeared behind her head.
“Nurse, would you take a look at this?”
Someone she could not see joined him. They conferred
softly. Gritting her teeth, Rebel said, “I suppose it happens
to you all the time.”
They ignored her. The scent of roses from the divider
hedges was heavy and cloying, thick enough to choke on.
Traffic continued flowing along the axis.
If she could have moved so much as an arm, Rebel
would’ve waited for the doctor to lean too close, and then
tried to choke the truth out of him. But she was
immobilized, unable even to move her head. She could
only stare up at the people floating by and the stars
wheeling monotonously past. The habitat strips to either
side of overhead were built up with platforms and false
hills, rising like islands from a starry sea. By their shores
occasional groups of picnickers ventured onto the window
floor, black specks visible only when they occulted stars or
other cannister cities. The strange planet went by again.
“We’ll want to wait another day before surgery,” the
doctor said finally. “But her persona’s stabilized nicely. If
there aren’t any major changes in her condition, we can