"Elizabeth Moon. The Speed of Dark " - читать интересную книгу автора

speak, but there is no reason. I can see that Dale is thinking very hard
and doesn't need to be interrupted. I am still annoyed about Dr. Fornum, as
I am every quarter, so I pass my desk and go on into the mini-gym. Bouncing
will help. Bouncing always helps. No one else is there, so I hang the sign
on the door and turn good bouncing music up loud.
No one interrupts me while I bounce; the strong thrust of the
trampoline followed by weightless suspension makes me feel vast and light.
I can feel my mind stretching out, relaxing, even as I keep perfect time
with the music. When I feel the concentration returning and curiosity
drives me once more toward my assignment, I slow the bouncing to tiny
little baby bounces and swing off the trampoline.
No one interrupts me as I walk to my desk. I think Linda is there, and
Bailey, but it doesn't matter. Later we may go for supper, but not now. Now
I am ready to work.
The symbols I work with are meaningless and confusing to most people.
It is hard to explain what I do, but I know it is valuable work, because
they pay me enough to afford the car, the apartment, and they supply the
gym and the quarterly visits to Dr. Fornum. Basically I look for patterns.
Some of the patterns have fancy names and other people find them hard to
see, but for me they have always been easy. All I had to do was learn the
way to describe them so others could see that I had something in mind.
I put headphones on and choose a music. For the project I'm on now,
Schubert is too lush. Bach is perfect, the complex patterns mirroring the
pattern I need. I let the place in my mind that finds and generates
patterns sink into the project, and then it is like watching ice crystals
grow on the surface of still water: one after another, the lines of ice
grow, branch, branch again, interlace... All I have to do is pay attention
and ensure that the pattern remains symmetrical or asymmetrical or whatever
the particular project calls for. This time it is more intensely recursive
than most, and I see it in my mind as stacks of fractal growth, forming a
spiky sphere.
When the edges blur, I shake myself and sit back. It has been five
hours, and I didn't notice. All the agitation from Dr. Fornum has gone,
leaving me clear. Sometimes when I come back I can't work for a day or so,
but this time I got back into balance with the bouncing. Above my
workstation, a pinwheel spins lazily in the draft of the ventilation
system. I blow at it, and after a moment-1.3 seconds, actually-it spins
faster, twinkling purple-and-silver in the light. I decide to turn on my
swiveling fan so all the pinwheels and spin spirals can spin together,
filling my office with twinkling light.
The dazzle has just started when I hear Bailey calling from down the
hall, "Anyone for pizza?" I am hungry; my stomach makes noises and I can
suddenly smell everything in the office: the paper, the workstation, the
carpet, the metal/plastic/dust/cleaning solution... myself. I turn off the
fan, give a last glance at the spinning and twinkling beauty, and go out
into the hall. A quick flick of a glance at my friends' faces is all I need
to know who is coming and who is not. We do not need to talk about it; we
know one another.
We come into the pizza place about nine. Linda, Bailey, Eric, Dale,
Cameron, and me. Chuy was ready to eat, too, but the tables here hold only