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- Ричард Морган
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"
I
’
m
serious
.
"
The
words
were
grounded
deeper
than
the
empathin
.
I
pulled
in
some
control
and
looked
her
in
the
eyes
.
"
Yes
,
"
I
said
simply
.
"
I
like
you
.
"
Her
voice
lowered
into
her
throat
.
"
Do
you
like
what
we
did
?
"
"
Yes
,
I
like
what
we
did
.
"
"
Do
you
want
more
?
"
"
Yes
,
I
want
more
.
"
She
sat
up
to
face
me
.
The
milking
motions
of
her
hand
grew
harder
,
more
demanding
.
Her
voice
hardened
to
match
.
"
Say
it
again
.
"
"
I
want
more
.
Of
you
.
"
She
pushed
me
down
with
a
hand
flat
on
my
chest
and
leaned
over
me
.
I
was
growing
back
to
somewhere
near
a
full
erection
.
She
started
to
time
her
strokes
,
slow
and
sharp
.
"
Out
west
,
"
she
murmured
,
"
about
five
hours
away
by
cruiser
,
there
’
s
an
island
.
It
’
s
mine
.
No
one
goes
there
,
there
’
s
a
fifty
-
kilometre
exclusion
umbrella
,
satellite
patrolled
,
but
it
’
s
beautiful
.
I
’
ve
built
a
complex
there
,
with
a
clone
bank
and
a
re
-
sleeving
facility
.
"
Her
voice
got
that
uneven
edge
in
it
again
.
"
I
sometimes
decant
the
clones
.
Sleeve
copies
of
myself
.
To
play
.
Do
you
understand
what
I
’
m
offering
you
?
"
