-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Ричард Морган
-
- Видоизмененный углерод
-
- Стр. 9/560
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Perhaps
it
does
.
"
On
an
impulse
,
I
flexed
my
new
face
into
a
smile
.
"
Doctor
,
I
’
ve
never
been
here
before
.
To
Earth
,
I
mean
.
I
’
ve
never
dealt
with
your
police
before
.
Should
I
be
worried
?
"
She
looked
at
me
,
and
I
saw
it
welling
up
in
her
eyes
;
the
mingled
fear
and
wonder
and
contempt
of
the
failed
human
reformer
.
"
With
a
man
like
you
,
"
she
managed
finally
,
"
I
would
have
thought
they
would
be
the
worried
ones
.
"
"
Yeah
,
right
,
"
I
said
quietly
.
She
hesitated
,
then
gestured
.
"
There
is
a
mirror
in
the
changing
room
,
"
she
said
,
and
left
.
I
glanced
towards
the
room
she
had
indicated
,
not
sure
I
was
ready
for
the
mirror
yet
.
In
the
shower
I
whistled
away
my
disquiet
tunelessly
and
ran
soap
and
hands
over
the
new
body
.
My
sleeve
was
in
his
early
forties
,
Protectorate
standard
,
with
a
swimmer
’
s
build
and
what
felt
like
some
military
custom
carved
onto
his
nervous
system
.
Neurachemical
upgrade
,
most
likely
.
I
’
d
had
it
myself
,
once
.
There
was
a
tightness
in
the
lungs
that
suggested
a
nicotine
habit
and
some
gorgeous
scarring
on
the
forearm
,
but
apart
from
that
I
couldn
’
t
find
anything
worth
complaining
about
.
The
little
twinges
and
snags
catch
up
with
you
later
on
and
if
you
’
re
wise
,
you
just
live
with
them
.
Every
sleeve
has
a
history
.
If
that
kind
of
thing
bothers
you
,
you
line
up
over
at
Syntheta
’
s
or
Fabrikon
.
I
’
ve
worn
my
fair
share
of
synthetic
sleeves
;
they
use
them
for
parole
hearings
quite
often
.
Cheap
,
but
it
’
s
too
much
like
living
alone
in
a
draughty
house
,
and
they
never
seem
to
get
the
flavour
circuits
right
.
Everything
you
eat
ends
up
tasting
like
curried
sawdust
.
In
the
changing
cubicle
I
found
a
neatly
folded
summer
suit
on
the
bench
,
and
the
mirror
set
in
the
wall
.
On
top
of
the
pile
of
clothes
was
a
simple
steel
watch
,
and
weighted
beneath
the
watch
was
a
plain
white
envelope
with
my
name
written
neatly
across
it
.
I
took
a
deep
breath
and
went
to
face
the
mirror
.
This
is
always
the
toughest
part
.
Nearly
two
decades
I
’
ve
been
doing
this
,
and
it
still
jars
me
to
look
into
the
glass
and
see
a
total
stranger
staring
back
.
It
’
s
like
pulling
an
image
out
of
the
depths
of
an
autostereogram
.
For
the
first
couple
of
moments
all
you
can
see
is
someone
else
looking
at
you
through
a
window
frame
.
Then
,
like
a
shift
in
focus
,
you
feel
yourself
float
rapidly
up
behind
the
mask
and
adhere
to
its
inside
with
a
shock
that
’
s
almost
tactile
.
It
’
s
as
if
someone
’
s
cut
an
umbilical
cord
,
only
instead
of
separating
the
two
of
you
,
it
’
s
the
otherness
that
has
been
severed
and
now
you
’
re
just
looking
at
your
reflection
in
a
mirror
.
I
stood
there
and
towelled
myself
dry
,
getting
used
to
the
face
.
