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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
Not
General
Girling
?
’
'
General
who
?
’
The
lozenge
went
blank
.
'
Run
that
back
and
get
the
Hosaka
to
look
it
up
,
’
he
told
the
construct
.
He
flipped
.
The
perspective
startled
him
.
Molly
was
crouching
between
steel
girders
,
twenty
meters
above
a
broad
,
stained
floor
of
polished
concrete
.
The
room
was
a
hangar
or
service
bay
.
He
could
see
three
spacecraft
,
none
larger
than
Garveyand
all
in
various
stages
of
repair
.
Japanese
voices
.
A
figure
in
an
orange
jumpsuit
stepped
from
a
gap
in
the
hull
of
a
bulbous
construction
vehicle
and
stood
beside
one
of
the
thing
’
s
piston
-
driven
,
weirdly
anthropomorphic
arms
.
The
man
punched
something
into
a
portable
console
and
scratched
his
ribs
.
A
cartlike
red
drone
rolled
into
sight
on
gray
balloon
tires
.
CASE
,
flashed
her
chip
.
'
Hey
,
’
she
said
.
'
Waiting
for
a
guide
.
’
She
settled
back
on
her
haunches
,
the
arms
and
knees
of
her
Modern
suit
the
color
of
the
blue
-
gray
paint
on
the
girders
,
Her
leg
hurt
,
a
sharp
steady
pain
now
.
'
I
shoulda
gone
back
to
Chin
,
’
she
muttered
.
Something
came
ticking
quietly
out
of
the
shadows
,
on
a
level
with
her
left
shoulder
.
It
paused
,
swayed
its
spherical
body
from
side
to
side
on
high
-
arched
spider
legs
,
fired
a
microsecond
burst
of
diffuse
laserlight
,
and
froze
.
It
was
a
Braun
microdrone
,
and
Case
had
once
owned
the
same
model
,
a
pointless
accessory
he
’
d
obtained
as
part
of
a
package
deal
with
a
Cleveland
hardware
fence
.
It
looked
like
a
stylized
matte
black
daddy
longlegs
.
A
red
LED
began
to
pulse
,
at
the
sphere
’
s
equator
.
