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Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
Страница: 13 из 156The marble was cold beneath Little Worker's feet. She went down the stairs quickly.
On the ground floor, Little Worker first crossed a broad reception hall along the walls of which were ranged busts on plinths, potted plants, and gold-framed paintings. She passed through a huge salon used for formal affairs, then through Mister Michael's study, with its big walnut desk and shelves of books and wall-sized plasma screen. Several more chambers intervened before the kitchen, but finally Little Worker reached that chrome and tile room.
Most mornings, as now, the large kitchen was empty. On the mornings of those days when there were to be state dinners, the kitchen was bustling early with hired chefs, who prepared the more complex dishes the food-center could not handle. Little Worker disliked such interruptions of her normal schedule. However, this was not such a morning. The kitchen was empty.
Little Worker advanced to the food-center.
"Food– center, prepare me toast with jelly," she said.
"There is no more bread," replied the food-center.
No more bread. Little Worker was disconcerted. She had had her heart set on toast and jelly. What could have happened to the supply of bread? Yesterday there had been plenty.
"What has happened to the bread?" asked Little Worker.
"Last night Mister Michael's wife fed it all to the Bull andromorph. He ate three loaves. There were only three loaves. Thus there are no more."
Mister Michael's wife had fed all of Little Worker's toast to her Bull. It was the fault of Mister Michael's wife that there was no toast this morning for Little Worker.
"The bakery delivery occurs at ten o'clock this morning," offered the food center helpfully.
"I will be gone with Mister Michael by then. I will not be home at ten o'clock. I must eat something different." Little Worker paused to reflect. "I will have hot cereal with a spoon of jelly on it."
"There is no jelly. The Bull ate that also. With peanut butter."
Little Worker tensed her fingers reflexively. Her morning, disturbed already by the new odor coming from Mister Michael's bedroom, was not getting better. The change in routine upset her. It felt like a morning when chefs came. But no chefs were here.
"I will have an egg then," said Little Worker.
"There are eggs," said the food-center.
"There is no jelly for an egg?" hopefully asked Little Worker one last time.
"There is no jelly even for an egg."
"Then I will have an egg alone.
On the ground floor, Little Worker first crossed a broad reception hall along the walls of which were ranged busts on plinths, potted plants, and gold-framed paintings. She passed through a huge salon used for formal affairs, then through Mister Michael's study, with its big walnut desk and shelves of books and wall-sized plasma screen. Several more chambers intervened before the kitchen, but finally Little Worker reached that chrome and tile room.
Most mornings, as now, the large kitchen was empty. On the mornings of those days when there were to be state dinners, the kitchen was bustling early with hired chefs, who prepared the more complex dishes the food-center could not handle. Little Worker disliked such interruptions of her normal schedule. However, this was not such a morning. The kitchen was empty.
Little Worker advanced to the food-center.
"Food– center, prepare me toast with jelly," she said.
"There is no more bread," replied the food-center.
No more bread. Little Worker was disconcerted. She had had her heart set on toast and jelly. What could have happened to the supply of bread? Yesterday there had been plenty.
"What has happened to the bread?" asked Little Worker.
"Last night Mister Michael's wife fed it all to the Bull andromorph. He ate three loaves. There were only three loaves. Thus there are no more."
Mister Michael's wife had fed all of Little Worker's toast to her Bull. It was the fault of Mister Michael's wife that there was no toast this morning for Little Worker.
"The bakery delivery occurs at ten o'clock this morning," offered the food center helpfully.
"I will be gone with Mister Michael by then. I will not be home at ten o'clock. I must eat something different." Little Worker paused to reflect. "I will have hot cereal with a spoon of jelly on it."
"There is no jelly. The Bull ate that also. With peanut butter."
Little Worker tensed her fingers reflexively. Her morning, disturbed already by the new odor coming from Mister Michael's bedroom, was not getting better. The change in routine upset her. It felt like a morning when chefs came. But no chefs were here.
"I will have an egg then," said Little Worker.
"There are eggs," said the food-center.
"There is no jelly for an egg?" hopefully asked Little Worker one last time.
"There is no jelly even for an egg."
"Then I will have an egg alone.