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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
So
what
do
we
-
-
’
Case
’
s
mouth
shut
as
the
hatch
swung
up
,
a
slight
differential
in
pressure
puffing
fine
grit
into
his
eyes
.
Maelcum
scrambled
up
,
over
the
edge
,
and
Case
heard
the
tiny
click
of
the
Remington
’
s
safety
being
released
.
'
You
th
’
mon
in
th
’
hurry
.
.
.
’
Maelcum
whispered
,
crouching
there
.
Then
Case
was
beside
him
.
The
hatch
was
centered
in
a
round
,
vaulted
chamber
floored
with
blue
nonslip
plastic
tiles
.
Maelcum
nudged
him
,
pointed
,
and
he
saw
a
monitor
set
into
a
curved
wall
.
On
the
screen
,
a
tall
young
man
with
the
Tessier
-
Ashpool
features
was
brushing
something
from
the
sleeves
of
his
dark
suitcoat
.
He
stood
beside
an
identical
hatch
,
in
an
identical
chamber
.
'
Very
sorry
,
sir
,
’
said
a
voice
from
a
grid
centered
above
the
hatch
.
Case
glanced
up
.
'
Expected
you
later
,
at
the
axial
dock
.
One
moment
,
please
.
’
On
the
monitor
,
the
young
man
tossed
his
head
impatiently
.
Maelcum
spun
as
a
door
slid
open
to
their
left
,
the
shotgun
ready
.
A
small
Eurasian
in
orange
coveralls
stepped
through
and
goggled
at
them
.
He
opened
his
mouth
,
but
nothing
came
out
.
He
closed
his
mouth
.
Case
glanced
at
the
monitor
.
Blank
.
'
Who
?
’
the
man
managed
.
'
The
Rastafarian
navy
,
’
Case
said
,
standing
up
,
the
cyberspace
deck
banging
against
his
hip
,
'
and
all
we
want
’
s
a
jack
into
your
custodial
system
.
’
The
man
swallowed
.
'
Is
this
a
test
?
It
’
s
a
loyalty
check
.
It
must
be
a
loyalty
check
.
’
He
wiped
the
palms
of
his
hands
on
the
thighs
of
his
orange
suit
.
'
No
,
mon
,
this
a
real
one
.
’
Maelcum
came
up
out
of
his
crouch
with
the
Remington
pointed
at
the
Eurasian
’
s
face
.
'
You
move
it
.
’
