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- Ричард Морган
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"
Who
else
is
it
going
to
be
?
"
I
heard
Ortega
ask
him
impatiently
.
"
This
is
a
goddamn
virtuality
.
"
"
Yeah
,
but
…
"
Bautista
shrugged
and
gestured
to
the
empty
seats
.
"
Welcome
to
the
party
.
"
There
were
five
figures
seated
in
the
circle
of
lounge
furniture
.
Irene
Elliott
and
Davidson
were
seated
at
opposite
ends
of
a
sofa
beside
Bautista
’
s
chair
.
On
the
other
side
of
Bautista
,
Ortega
had
sprawled
her
long
-
limbed
body
along
the
full
length
of
a
second
sofa
.
The
fifth
figure
was
relaxed
deep
into
another
armchair
,
legs
stretched
out
in
front
of
him
,
face
sunk
in
shadows
.
Wiry
black
hair
stuck
up
in
silhouette
above
a
multicoloured
bandanna
.
Lying
across
his
lap
was
a
white
guitar
.
I
stopped
in
front
of
him
.
"
The
Hendrix
,
right
?
"
"
That
’
s
correct
.
"
There
was
a
depth
and
timbre
to
the
voice
that
had
been
absent
before
.
The
big
hands
moved
across
frets
and
dislodged
a
tumble
of
chords
onto
the
darkened
lawn
.
"
Base
entity
projection
.
Hardwired
in
by
the
original
designers
.
If
you
strip
down
the
client
-
mirroring
systems
,
this
is
what
you
get
.
"
"
Good
.
"
I
took
an
armchair
opposite
Irene
Elliott
.
"
You
happy
with
the
working
environment
?
"
She
nodded
.
"
Yeah
,
it
’
s
fine
.
"
"
How
long
’
ve
you
been
here
?
"
