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- Ричард Морган
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"
You
want
to
see
me
?
"
the
synth
voice
asked
unevenly
.
"
What
for
?
"
"
I
’
m
a
private
investigator
working
for
Laurens
Bancroft
,
"
I
said
as
gently
as
I
could
.
"
I
’
d
like
to
ask
you
a
few
questions
about
your
duties
at
PsychaSec
.
May
I
come
in
?
"
She
made
a
small
noise
,
one
that
made
me
think
she
’
d
probably
tried
to
shut
doors
in
men
’
s
faces
before
without
success
.
"
It
won
’
t
take
long
.
"
She
shrugged
,
and
opened
the
door
wide
.
I
passed
her
and
stepped
into
a
tidily
kept
but
threadbare
room
whose
most
important
feature
was
clearly
a
sleek
black
entertainment
deck
.
The
system
reared
off
the
carpeting
in
the
far
corner
like
an
obscure
machine
-
god
’
s
idol
,
and
the
remaining
furniture
had
been
rearranged
around
it
in
obeisance
.
Like
the
microcopter
’
s
paint
job
,
it
looked
new
.
Daryl
had
disappeared
from
view
.
"
Nice
deck
,
"
I
said
,
going
over
to
examine
the
machine
’
s
raked
display
front
.
"
When
did
you
get
it
?
"
"
A
while
ago
.
"
Sheryl
Bostock
closed
the
door
and
came
to
stand
uncertainly
in
the
centre
of
the
room
.
Her
face
was
waking
up
and
now
its
expression
hovered
midway
between
sleep
and
suspicion
.
"
What
do
you
want
to
ask
me
?
"
"
May
I
sit
down
?
"
She
motioned
me
wordlessly
to
one
of
the
brutally
used
armchairs
and
seated
herself
opposite
me
on
a
lounger
.
In
the
gaps
left
by
the
kaftan
,
her
synthetic
flesh
looked
pinkish
and
unreal
.
I
looked
at
her
for
a
while
,
wondering
if
I
wanted
to
go
through
with
this
after
all
.
