Страница 9 из 51
“That’s a polite lie. I look terrible, and you can feel free to let me know about it.”
Her lips quirked impatiently. “Is something the matter? Are you all right?”
Noyes took a deep breath and said, “I need a tiny favor, Gloria.”
Chapter 4
The building housing the soul bank rose in stu
To the Scheffing Institute that Friday morning came Mark Kaufma
Francesco Santoliquido’s office was deep, high, consciously impressive. In one corner stood a sonic sculpture, the work of Anton Kozak: a beautiful piece, all flowing lines and delicate rhythms, emitting a gentle white hiss that swiftly infiltrated itself into one’s consciousness and became rooted there. Kaufma
Santoliquido’s desk split obediently and the administrator came through the sections to greet Kaufma
The two men touched hands. Santoliquido returned to his desk, extended a tray of drinks, took part with Kaufma
“Well,” said Santoliquido, “we had the pleasure of your lovely daughter’s company here yesterday. She seems hard to please, though. We unrolled our best carpets for her, but there was no deal.”
“Not yet. She’ll be back.”
“Yes, certainly. Next Tuesday. She’s choosing among three interesting alternatives.”
“I’d like to scan them,” said Kaufma
“I know.” Santoliquido smiled elegantly. Kaufma
The pitch of the Kozak piece altered perceptively, growing more definite, more passionate. Once Kaufma
Kaufma
“Nothing new. “I’d like to see him, too.”
“Really?”
“You’ll satisfy my curiosity, won’t you?” Kaufma
“So that when you see him taped and carded, you’ll finally accept that he’s gone?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that Mark.” Santoliquido clasped his hands over his belly and laughed. “Paul was quite the titan, wasn’t he? I’ll admit I ran his persona off myself, after the funeral, just to get some feel for the man. And I was awed. Let me tell you, Mark, I don’t awe easily, but I was awed.”
“Toying with the idea of taking him on yourself?” Santoliquido looked displeased, and even the crustaceans at his throat rapidly changed hues, as if somehow attuned to the flavor of his thoughts. “I have no desire whatever to have that terrible old man mixing in my nervous system,” said Santoliquido firmly. “And in any event, considering the demand for his persona, it would be a grave breach of trust if I were to appropriate him for my own use. Yes?”
“Of course. Of course.” The look of affability returned. “Anyone who wants your uncle’s persona is welcome to it, so far as I care personally. What a powerhouse! He’d overwhelm nine out of ten who took him on.”
“Just as he overwhelmed us all in life,” said Kaufma
“I can understand that.”
“One more thing. None of us could accept the news, when he had the stroke. I mean, he was still a young man, hardly past seventy. We assumed he’d be around at least fifty more years. But his own vitality must have burned him out.”
“He’ll be back among us all soon enough,” said Santoliquido. “As a persona, yes. That’s not quite the same as having Uncle Paul striding through the rooms booming out orders.”
“Time will tell about that. It’ll take a strong man to hold him down, Mark.”
“You’re expecting Paul to take over his host?”
“I’m not expecting anything, officially. I’m merely a bureaucrat, and it’s not my business to expect. Come. I’ll take you to see your uncle.”
“And Risa’s three possible personae,” Kaufma