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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
I
want
you
checked
out
by
a
medic
,
’
Armitage
said
.
'
Just
this
hystamine
reaction
,
’
Case
lied
.
'
Get
it
when
I
travel
,
eat
different
stuff
,
sometimes
.
’
Armitage
wore
a
dark
suit
,
too
formal
for
the
place
,
and
a
white
silk
shirt
.
His
gold
bracelet
rattled
as
he
raised
his
wine
and
sipped
.
'
I
’
ve
ordered
for
you
,
’
he
said
.
Molly
and
Armitage
ate
in
silence
,
while
Case
sawed
shakily
at
his
steak
,
reducing
it
to
uneaten
bite
-
sized
fragments
,
which
he
pushed
around
in
the
rich
sauce
,
finally
abandoning
the
whole
thing
.
'
Jesus
,
’
Molly
said
,
her
own
plate
empty
,
'
gimme
that
.
You
know
what
this
costs
?
’
She
took
his
plate
.
'
They
gotta
raise
a
whole
animal
for
years
and
then
they
kill
it
.
This
isn
’
t
vat
stuff
.
’
She
forked
a
mouthful
up
and
chewed
.
'
Not
hungry
,
’
Case
managed
.
His
brain
was
deep
-
fried
.
No
,
he
decided
,
it
had
been
thrown
into
hot
fat
and
left
there
,
and
the
fat
had
cooled
,
a
thick
dull
grease
congealing
on
the
wrinkled
lobes
,
shot
through
with
greenish
-
purple
flashes
of
pain
.
'
You
look
fucking
awful
,
’
Molly
said
cheerfully
.
Case
tried
the
wine
.
The
aftermath
of
the
betaphenethylamine
made
it
taste
like
iodine
.
The
lights
dimmed
.
'
Le
Restaurant
Vingtime
Sicle
,
’
said
a
disembodied
voice
with
a
pronounced
Sprawl
accent
,
'
proudly
presents
the
holographic
cabaret
of
Mr
.
Peter
Riviera
.
’
Scattered
applause
from
the
other
tables
.
A
waiter
lit
a
single
candle
and
placed
it
in
the
center
of
their
table
,
then
began
to
remove
the
dishes
.
Soon
a
candle
flickered
at
each
of
the
restaurant
’
s
dozen
tables
,
and
drinks
were
being
poured
.
