"Connie Willis - Even The Queen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

"Who is 'us', Mother?"
"Just the family," she said innocently. "You and Viola."
Well, at least she hadn't brought in the deprogrammer. Yet. "What are you up to, Mother?"
"Perdita said the same thing. Can't a grandmother ask her granddaughters to lunch? Be there at twelve-
thirty."
"Bysshe and I have a court calendar meeting at three."
"Oh, we'll be done by then. And bring Bysshe with you. He can provide a man's point of view."
She hung up.
"You'll have to go to lunch with me, Bysshe," I said. "Sorry."
"Why? What's going to happen at lunch?"
"I have no idea."
*****
On the way over to McGregor's, Bysshe told me what he'd found out about the Cyclists. "They're not a
cult. There's no religious connection. They seem to have grown out of a pre- Liberation women's
group," he said, looking at his notes, "although there are also links to the pro-choice movement, the
University of Wisconsin, and the Museum of Modern Art."
"What?"
"They call their group leaders 'docents.' Their philosophy seems to be a mix of pre-Liberation radical
feminism and the environmental primitivism of the eighties. They're floratarians and they don't wear
shoes."
"Or shunts," I said. We pulled up in front of McGregor's and got out of the car. "Any mind control
convictions?" I asked hopefully.
"No. A bunch of suits against individual members, all of which they won."
"On grounds of personal sovereignty."
"Yeah. And a criminal one by a member whose family tried to deprogram her. The deprogrammer was
sentenced to twenty years, and the family got twelve."
"Be sure to tell Mother about that one," I said, and opened the door to McGregor's.
It was one of those restaurants with a morning glory vine twining around the maitre d's desk and garden
plots between the tables.
"Perdita suggested it," Mother said, guiding Bysshe and I past the onions to our table. "She told me a lot
of the Cyclists are floratarians."
"Is she here?" I asked, sidestepping a cucumber frame.
"Not yet." She pointed past a rose arbor. "There's our table."
Our table was a wicker affair under a mulberry tree. Viola and Twidge were seated on the far side next
to a trellis of runner beans, looking at menus.
"What are you doing here, Twidge?" I asked. "Why aren't you in school?"
"I am," she said, holding up her LCD slate. "I'm remoting today."
"I thought she should be part of this discussion," Viola said. "After all, she'll be getting her shunt soon."

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"My friend Kensy says she isn't going to get one, like Perdita," Twidge said.
"I'm sure Kensy will change her mind when the time comes," Mother said. "Perdita will change hers,
too. Bysshe, why don't you sit next to Viola?"
Bysshe slid obediently past the trellis and sat down in the wicker chair at the far end of the table.
Twidge reached across Viola and handed him a menu. "This is a great restaurant," she said. "You don't
have to wear shoes." She held up a bare foot to illustrate. "And if you get hungry while you're waiting,
you can just pick something." She twisted around in her chair, picked two of the green beans, gave one
to Bysshe, and bit into the other one. "I bet she doesn't. Kensy says a shunt hurts worse than braces."