"Walter Jon Williams - The Bob Dylan Solution" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

The Bob Dylan Solution
Walter Jon Williams
1
Pus-yellow smog drifts through the artificial canyons of Hollywood like windblown sand silting over the
foundations of a Western ghost town. Anything moving below the smog curtain is invisible, certainly
insignificant. Robertson takes a certain satisfaction in the thought.

"I've heard the songs Sorrel's recorded so far," says Brenner. "They're a mess, I agree with you. He's
spending millions in studio time and the project isn't even near completion. A disaster."

"The computer projections aren't good." Robertson, staring down at the smog from his air-conditioned
aerie, feels a reflex irritation at the back of his throat. Suddenly he's glad he gave up smoking. He clears
his throat. "The whole middle-class rebellion thing is dying out. The declining economy won't support it.
People are too interested in hanging on to their jobs to worry about ideology." He clears his throat again.
"Sorrel's career peaked two albums ago. He's going to lose his audience in the next eighteen months.
Something has to happen to make him recast his message. He needs to go affirmative."

"The psych profiles aren't encouraging, either." Hose-covered thighs sing against one another as Brenner
crosses her legs. "He's losing his inspiration. Velda isn't helping. He needs something to shake him up,
jump-start his creativity. Move him in a new direction."

Robertson nods. Sorrel had been his discovery, the means by which he ascended from among the
smog-bound proles below to the highest penthouse atop the Lizard Records building. Talent like that
comes once a decade. But what happens when the talent uses itself up?

"Velda," Brenner says, "could have an accident." Her voice is tentative.

"He'll find someone else just like her. Veldas aren't hard to find. Then we're in the same bind."

Robertson turns away from the transparent, bulletproof, evolved-aluminum window and steps toward his
desk. He opens a drawer and takes out an atomizer of throat spray. He sprays his throat carefully, thrice.
Brenner opens her compact and stares into the mirror.

"You know what to do," Robertson says.

Brenner, fluffing her hair, gives a single, precise nod.
2
Brenner's office is covered with diagrams of road accidents. Semi trucks, cars, motorcycles, all with little
arrows, notations of velocity and direction. X-rays of broken skulls are stuck to the evolved-aluminum
window with Scotch tape. Labels are affixed: Dean, Berry, Dylan, Clift, Allman. "The chief variable,"
Brenner says, "is Sorrel's speed. We can't control that. That's why I recommend Scenario Four. If we
keep him boxed in, we can control his speed up until the moment he swings out to pass the truck."

"Good work," Robertson says.

Brenner purses her painted lips doubtfully. "There are risks. "

Robertson opens his briefcase, removes some graphs. "This sequence displays posthumous earnings by
major stars. James Dean's biggest movie was released after he died. Hendrix, Elvis, Joplin, Holly, Croce
they all made more money for their estates than they ever did for themselves."