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- Ричард Морган
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"
Smart
.
"
"
Yeah
,
smart
.
"
We
came
to
the
end
of
the
gangway
,
and
stepped
out
again
onto
a
wind
-
whipped
deck
.
On
either
side
of
us
the
roofing
of
two
of
the
cargo
cells
swelled
smoothly
to
waist
height
like
two
enormous
steel
blisters
on
the
ship
’
s
skin
.
Beyond
the
rear
swelling
,
the
bridge
towered
blankly
into
the
sky
,
seeming
entirely
unconnected
with
the
hull
we
were
standing
on
.
The
only
motion
came
from
the
chains
of
a
loading
crane
ahead
of
us
that
the
wind
had
set
swinging
fractionally
.
"
The
last
time
I
was
out
here
,
"
said
Ortega
,
raising
her
voice
to
compete
with
the
wind
,
"
was
because
some
dipshit
newsprick
from
WorldWeb
One
got
caught
trying
to
walk
recording
implants
into
a
title
fight
.
They
threw
him
into
the
Bay
.
After
they
’
d
removed
the
implants
with
a
pair
of
pliers
.
"
"
Nice
.
"
"
Like
I
said
,
it
’
s
a
classy
place
.
"
"
Such
flattery
,
lieutenant
.
I
hardly
know
how
to
respond
.
"
The
voice
coughed
from
rusty
-
looking
tannoy
horns
set
on
two
-
metre
-
high
stalks
along
the
rail
.
My
hand
flew
to
the
Nemex
butt
,
and
my
vision
cycled
out
to
peripheral
scan
with
a
rapidity
that
hurt
.
Ortega
gave
me
an
almost
imperceptible
shake
of
the
head
and
looked
up
at
the
bridge
.
The
two
of
us
swept
the
superstructure
for
movement
in
opposite
directions
,
coordinating
unconsciously
.
Under
the
immediacy
of
the
tension
,
I
felt
a
warm
shiver
of
pleasure
at
that
unlooked
-
for
symmetry
.
"
No
,
no
.
Over
here
,
"
said
the
metallic
voice
,
this
time
relegated
to
the
horns
at
the
stern
.
As
I
watched
,
the
chains
on
one
of
the
rear
loading
cranes
grated
into
motion
and
began
to
run
,
presumably
hauling
something
up
from
the
open
cell
in
front
of
the
bridge
.
I
left
my
hand
on
the
Nemex
.
Overhead
,
the
sun
was
breaking
through
the
cloud
cover
.
