-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Ричард Морган
-
- Видоизмененный углерод
-
- Стр. 428/560
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Bancroft
was
silent
.
I
watched
him
for
a
moment
,
seeing
the
belief
sink
in
.
Watching
the
process
as
he
convinced
himself
.
I
could
almost
see
what
he
was
seeing
.
Himself
,
hunched
over
in
an
autocab
as
the
sordid
guilt
over
what
he
had
been
doing
at
Jack
It
Up
merged
sickeningly
with
the
horror
of
the
contamination
warnings
sirening
in
his
head
.
Infected
!
Himself
,
Laurens
Bancroft
,
stumbling
through
the
dark
towards
the
lights
of
Suntouch
House
and
the
only
surgery
that
could
save
him
.
Why
had
he
left
the
cab
so
far
from
home
?
Why
had
he
not
wakened
anybody
for
help
?
These
were
questions
I
no
longer
needed
to
answer
for
him
.
Bancroft
believed
.
His
guilt
and
self
-
disgust
made
him
believe
,
and
he
would
find
his
own
answers
to
reinforce
the
horrific
images
in
his
head
.
And
by
the
time
Transmission
Felony
cut
a
safe
path
through
to
Jack
It
Up
’
s
core
processors
,
Rawling
4851
would
have
eaten
out
every
scrap
of
coherent
intellect
the
machine
ever
had
.
There
would
be
nothing
left
to
dispute
the
carefully
constructed
lie
I
’
d
told
for
Kawahara
.
I
got
up
and
went
back
to
the
balcony
,
wondering
if
I
should
allow
myself
a
cigarette
.
It
had
been
tough
to
lock
down
the
need
the
last
couple
of
days
.
Watching
Irene
Elliott
at
work
had
been
nerve
-
racking
.
I
forced
my
hand
to
relinquish
the
packet
in
my
breast
pocket
,
and
gazed
down
at
Miriam
Bancroft
,
who
by
now
was
well
on
the
way
to
completing
her
glider
.
When
she
looked
up
,
I
glanced
away
along
the
balcony
rail
and
saw
Bancroft
’
s
telescope
,
still
pointed
seaward
at
the
same
shallow
angle
.
Idle
curiosity
made
me
lean
across
and
look
at
the
figures
for
angle
of
elevation
.
The
finger
marks
in
the
dust
were
still
there
.
Dust
?
Bancroft
’
s
unconsciously
arrogant
words
came
back
to
me
.
It
was
an
enthusiasm
I
had
.
Back
when
the
stars
were
still
something
to
stare
at
.
You
wouldn
’
t
remember
how
that
felt
.
Last
time
I
looked
through
that
lens
was
nearly
two
centuries
ago
.
I
stared
at
the
finger
marks
,
mesmerised
by
my
own
thoughts
.
Someone
had
been
looking
through
this
lens
a
lot
more
recently
than
two
hundred
years
ago
,
but
they
hadn
’
t
kept
at
it
very
long
.
From
the
minimal
displacement
of
dust
it
looked
as
if
the
programming
keys
had
only
been
used
once
.
On
a
sudden
impulse
,
I
moved
up
to
the
telescope
and
followed
the
line
of
its
barrel
out
over
the
sea
to
where
visibility
blurred
in
the
haze
.
That
far
out
the
angle
of
elevation
would
give
you
a
view
of
empty
air
a
couple
of
kilometres
up
.
I
bent
to
the
eye
-
piece
as
if
in
a
dream
.
A
grey
speck
showed
up
in
the
centre
of
my
field
of
vision
,
blurring
in
and
out
of
focus
as
my
eyes
struggled
with
the
surrounding
expanses
of
blue
.
Lifting
my
head
and
checking
the
control
pad
again
,
I
found
a
max
amp
key
and
thumbed
it
impatiently
.
When
I
looked
again
,
the
grey
speck
had
sprung
into
hard
focus
,
filling
most
of
the
lens
.
I
breathed
out
slowly
,
feeling
as
if
I
’
d
had
the
cigarette
after
all
.
The
airship
hung
like
a
bottleback
,
gorged
after
feeding
frenzy
.
It
must
have
been
several
hundred
metres
long
,
with
swellings
along
the
lower
half
of
the
hull
and
protruding
sections
that
looked
like
landing
pads
.
I
knew
what
I
was
looking
at
even
before
Ryker
’
s
neurachem
reeled
in
the
last
increments
of
magnification
I
needed
to
make
out
the
sun
-
burnished
lettering
on
the
side
that
spelled
it
out
;
Head
in
the
Clouds
.
