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- Уильям Гибсон
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When
Maelcum
removed
his
battered
helmet
,
Case
followed
his
lead
.
They
hung
there
in
the
lock
,
breathing
air
that
smelled
faintly
of
pine
.
Under
it
,
a
disturbing
edge
of
burning
insulation
.
Maelcum
sniffed
.
'
Trouble
here
,
mon
.
Any
boat
,
you
smell
that
.
.
.
’
A
door
,
padded
with
dark
gray
ultrasuede
,
slid
smoothly
back
into
its
housing
.
Maelcum
kicked
off
the
ebony
wall
and
sailed
neatly
through
the
narrow
opening
,
twisting
his
broad
shoulders
,
at
the
last
possible
instant
,
for
clearance
.
Case
followed
him
clumsily
,
hand
over
hand
,
along
a
waist
-
high
padded
rail
.
'
Bridge
,
’
Maelcum
said
,
pointing
down
a
seamless
,
creamwalled
corridor
,
'
be
there
.
’
He
launched
himself
with
another
effortless
kick
.
From
somewhere
ahead
,
Case
made
out
the
familiar
chatter
of
a
printer
turning
out
hard
copy
.
It
grew
louder
as
he
followed
Maelcum
through
another
doorway
,
into
a
swirling
mass
of
tangled
printout
.
Case
snatched
a
length
of
twisted
paper
and
glanced
at
it
.
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0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
'
Systems
crash
?
’
The
Zionite
flicked
a
gloved
finger
at
the
column
of
zeros
.
'
No
,
’
Case
said
,
grabbing
for
his
drifting
helmet
,
'
the
Flatline
said
Armitage
wiped
the
Hosaka
he
had
in
there
.
’
'
Smell
like
he
wipe
’
em
wi
’
laser
,
ya
know
?
’
The
Zionite
braced
his
foot
against
the
white
cage
of
a
Swiss
exercise
machine
and
shot
through
the
floating
maze
of
paper
,
batting
it
away
from
his
face
.
