Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

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“I have no future,” he said.

“Come this way, Clarey. That’s an order!”

Obediently, he followed her into a lounge that was a dazzle of color and splendor. There were eight pseudo-windows, each framing a pseudo-scene of a different planet at a different season. The harsh, barren summer of Mars, the cold, bleak winter of Ksud, the gentle green spring of Earth.... It must be a park, he knew; in no other place on Earth could spring be manifest—and yet it gave him a little pang to look at it. He tore his eyes away to turn them toward the others, and then up at the domed ceiling, fashioned to resemble a blue sky with clouds drifting across it. A domed ceiling ... and he thought of the domes of Damorlan, light-years away among the stars....

“I’m afraid the décor’s a bit gaudy,” Han apologized. “We didn’t check the decorator’s past performance until it was too late. But it’s comfortable, anyway. Try one of these chairs. They accommodate themselves to the form.”

She threw herself on a chaise lounge that accommodated itself perfectly to her form. She wasn’t wearing her usual opulent secretarial garb, but something simple of clinging stuff that occasionally went transparent. So we’re back to the first movement, Clarey though wearily.