-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Уильям Гибсон
-
- Нейромант
-
- Стр. 60/285
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Case
met
his
first
Modern
two
days
after
he
’
d
screened
the
Hosaka
’
s
precis
.
The
Moderns
,
he
’
d
decided
,
were
a
contemporary
version
of
the
Big
Scientists
of
his
own
late
teens
.
There
was
a
kind
of
ghostly
teenage
DNA
at
work
in
the
Sprawl
,
something
that
carried
the
coded
precepts
of
various
short
-
lived
subcults
and
replicated
them
at
odd
intervals
.
The
Panther
Moderns
were
a
softhead
variant
on
the
Scientists
.
If
the
technology
had
been
available
,
the
Big
Scientists
would
all
have
had
sockets
stuffed
with
microsofts
.
It
was
the
style
that
mattered
and
the
style
was
the
same
.
The
Moderns
were
mercenaries
,
practical
jokers
,
nihilistic
technofetishists
.
The
one
who
showed
up
at
the
loft
door
with
a
box
of
diskettes
from
the
Finn
was
a
soft
-
voiced
boy
called
Angelo
.
His
face
was
a
simple
graft
grown
on
collagen
and
shark
cartilage
polysaccharides
,
smooth
and
hideous
.
It
was
one
of
the
nastiest
pieces
of
elective
surgery
Case
had
ever
seen
.
When
Angelo
smiled
,
revealing
the
razor
-
sharp
canines
of
some
large
animal
,
Case
was
actually
relieved
.
Toothbud
transplants
.
He
’
d
seen
that
before
.
'
You
can
’
t
let
the
little
pricks
generation
-
gap
you
,
’
Molly
said
.
Case
nodded
,
absorbed
in
the
patterns
of
the
Sense
/
Net
ice
.
This
was
it
.
This
was
what
he
was
,
who
he
was
,
his
being
.
He
forgot
to
eat
.
Molly
left
cartons
of
rice
and
foam
trays
of
sushi
on
the
corner
of
the
long
table
.
Sometimes
he
resented
having
to
leave
the
deck
to
use
the
chemical
toilet
they
’
d
set
up
in
a
corner
of
the
loft
.
Ice
patterns
formed
and
reformed
on
the
screen
as
he
probed
for
gaps
,
skirted
the
most
obvious
traps
,
and
mapped
the
route
he
’
d
take
through
Sense
/
Net
’
s
ice
.
It
was
good
ice
.
Wonderful
ice
.
Its
patterns
burned
there
while
he
lay
with
his
arm
under
Molly
’
s
shoulders
,
watching
the
red
dawn
through
the
steel
grid
of
the
skylight
.
Its
rainbow
pixel
maze
was
the
first
thing
he
saw
when
he
woke
.
He
’
d
go
straight
to
the
deck
,
not
bothering
to
dress
,
and
jack
in
.
He
was
cutting
it
.
He
was
working
.
He
lost
track
of
days
.
And
sometimes
,
falling
asleep
,
particularly
when
Molly
was
off
on
one
of
her
reconnaissance
trips
with
her
rented
cadre
of
Moderns
,
images
of
Chiba
came
flooding
back
.
Faces
and
Ninsei
neon
.
Once
he
woke
from
a
confused
dream
of
Linda
Lee
,
unable
to
recall
who
she
was
or
what
she
’
d
ever
meant
to
him
.
When
he
did
remember
,
he
jacked
in
and
worked
for
nine
straight
hours
.
The
cutting
of
Sense
/
Net
’
s
ice
took
a
total
of
nine
days
.
'
I
said
a
week
,
’
Armitage
said
,
unable
to
conceal
his
satisfaction
when
Case
showed
him
his
plan
for
the
run
.
'
You
took
your
own
good
time
.
’
'
Balls
,
’
Case
said
,
smiling
at
the
screen
.
'
That
’
s
good
work
,
Armitage
.
’
'
Yes
,
’
Armitage
admitted
,
'
but
don
’
t
let
it
go
to
your
head
.
Compared
to
what
you
’
ll
eventually
be
up
against
,
this
is
an
arcade
toy
.
’
