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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
I
want
a
cubicle
,
’
he
said
to
the
girl
who
sat
at
the
low
desk
,
a
terminal
on
her
lap
.
'
Lower
level
.
’
He
handed
her
his
chip
.
'
Gender
preference
?
’
She
passed
the
chip
across
a
glass
plate
on
the
face
of
the
terminal
.
'
Female
,
’
he
said
automatically
.
'
Number
thirty
-
five
.
Phone
if
it
isn
’
t
satisfactory
.
You
can
access
our
special
services
display
beforehand
,
if
you
like
.
’
She
smiled
.
She
returned
his
chip
.
An
elevator
slid
open
behind
her
.
The
corridor
lights
were
blue
.
Case
stepped
out
of
the
elevator
and
chose
a
direction
at
random
.
Numbered
doors
.
A
hush
like
the
halls
of
an
expensive
clinic
.
He
found
his
cubicle
.
He
’
d
been
looking
for
Molly
’
s
,
now
,
confused
,
he
raised
his
chip
and
placed
it
against
a
black
sensor
set
directly
beneath
the
number
plate
.
Magnetic
locks
.
The
sound
reminded
him
of
Cheap
Hotel
.
The
girl
sat
up
in
bed
and
said
something
in
German
.
Her
eyes
were
soft
and
unblinking
.
Automatic
pilot
.
A
neural
cut
out
.
He
backed
out
of
the
cubicle
and
closed
the
door
.
The
door
of
forty
-
three
was
like
all
the
others
.
He
hesitated
.
The
silence
of
the
hallway
said
that
the
cubicles
were
soundproof
.
It
was
pointless
to
try
the
chip
.
He
rapped
his
knuckles
against
enameled
metal
.
Nothing
.
The
door
seemed
to
absorb
the
sound
.
