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- Ричард Морган
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"
Cabins
.
"
"
Down
the
stairs
,
to
the
left
.
Take
a
towel
from
the
pile
.
"
Down
the
stairs
,
along
the
corridor
lit
in
rotating
red
,
past
the
towel
alcove
and
the
first
four
closed
cabin
doors
.
Blood
-
deep
thunder
of
the
junk
rhythm
in
the
air
.
I
closed
the
fifth
door
behind
me
,
fed
a
few
notes
to
the
credit
console
for
appearances
’
sake
,
and
stepped
up
to
the
frosted
glass
screen
.
"
Louise
?
"
The
curves
of
her
body
thudded
against
the
glass
,
breasts
flattened
.
The
cherry
light
in
the
cabin
flung
stripes
of
light
across
her
.
"
Louise
,
it
’
s
me
.
Irene
.
Lizzie
’
s
mother
.
"
A
smear
of
something
dark
between
the
breasts
,
across
the
glass
.
The
neurachem
leapt
alive
inside
me
.
Then
the
glass
door
slid
aside
and
the
girl
’
s
body
sagged
off
its
inner
surface
into
my
arms
.
A
wide
-
muzzled
gun
appeared
over
her
shoulder
,
pointed
at
my
head
.
"
Right
there
,
fucker
,
"
said
a
tight
voice
.
"
This
is
a
toaster
.
You
do
one
wrong
thing
,
it
’
ll
take
your
head
off
your
chest
and
turn
your
stack
to
solder
.
"
I
froze
.
There
was
an
urgency
in
the
voice
that
wasn
’
t
far
off
panic
.
Very
dangerous
.
"
That
’
s
it
.
