Читать книгу Not fairy tales онлайн
14 страница из 60
About an hour later, the front door opened.
In the outer gallery stood an austere woman in a dark gray jumpsuit. At her knees, like a service
dog, a compact robot-carrier was frozen.
The visitor’s gaze traveled over the huge orange bag. Small feet in high blue sneakers peeking out of its throat could not go unnoticed. The attendant blinked, raised an eyebrow, curled her lips, but almost immediately her face took on its former aloof expression.
The scanner in her hand beeped the report: «90% organic substance».
«Biological garbage. Take it away,» she commanded the robot. «Furnace number 6.»
Pies
The brew in the cauldron bubbled and gurgled. Strangely dark steam rose upward and puffed across the ceiling, forming little manmade clouds. But these walls have seen more than that.
The old house, built of gray rough-hewn stone, with oak beams in the ceilings and a dirty plank floor, did not give the impression of a permanent dwelling at all. It was more like a cave, a burrow into which one had to crawl out of necessity.