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- Ричард Морган
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She
twisted
to
look
at
me
over
her
shoulder
.
"
It
’
s
Ryker
’
s
.
"
"
Ooops
.
"
I
looked
elaborately
away
.
"
Nice
carpet
in
here
.
"
Against
the
odds
,
it
brought
a
laugh
out
of
her
.
She
turned
fully
to
face
me
in
the
bed
.
Her
hand
rose
to
touch
my
face
softly
,
as
if
she
thought
it
might
mark
easily
,
or
maybe
disappear
.
"
I
told
myself
,
"
she
murmured
,
"
it
was
crazy
.
It
was
just
the
body
,
you
know
.
"
"
Most
things
are
.
Conscious
thought
doesn
’
t
have
much
to
do
with
this
stuff
.
Doesn
’
t
have
much
to
do
with
the
way
we
live
our
lives
,
full
stop
,
if
you
believe
the
psychologists
.
A
bit
of
rationalisation
,
most
of
it
with
hindsight
.
Put
the
rest
down
to
hormonal
drives
,
gene
instinct
and
pheromones
for
the
fine
tuning
.
Sad
,
but
true
.
"
Her
finger
followed
a
line
down
the
side
of
my
face
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
it
’
s
sad
.
What
we
’
ve
done
with
the
rest
of
ourselves
,
that
’
s
sad
.
"
"
Kristin
Ortega
.
"
I
took
hold
of
her
finger
and
squeezed
it
gently
.
"
You
are
a
real
fucking
Luddite
,
aren
’
t
you
.
How
in
God
’
s
name
did
you
get
into
this
line
of
work
?
"
She
shrugged
again
.
"
Family
of
cops
.
Father
was
a
cop
.
Grandmother
was
a
cop
.
You
know
how
it
goes
.
"
"
Not
from
experience
.
"
