[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
When did you last see Manfred? she repeats intently. I don't have time for this. The Polis don't know.
The medical services don't know. He's off-net and not responding. So what canyou tell me?
Neko mod two alpha requires maintenance downtime on a regular basis, the cat says pompously.
You knew that when you bought me this body. What were you expecting, five-nines uptime from a lump
of meat? The tongue rasps out then pauses while microprobes in its underside replace the hairs that fell
out earlier in the day.
Annette sighs. Manfred's had this robot cat for six years, and his ex-wife Pamela used to mess with its
neural wiring, too; this is its third body, and it's getting more realistically uncooperative with every
hardware upgrade. Sooner or later it's going to demand a litter tray and start throwing up on the carpet
out of spite. Command override, she says. Dump event log to my Cartesian theater, minus eight hours
to present.
The cat shudders and looks round at her. Human bitch! it hisses. Then it freezes in place as the air fills
with a bright and silent tsunami of data. Both Annette and Aineko are wired for extremely
high-bandwidth spread-spectrum optical networking; an observer would see the cat's eyes, and a ring on
her left hand, glow blue-white at each other. After a few seconds, Annette nods to herself and wiggles
her fingers in the air, navigating a time sequence only she can see. Aineko hisses jealousy at her, then
stands and stalks away, tail held high.
Curiouser and curiouser, Annette hums to herself. She intertwines her fingers, pressing obscure
pressure-points on knuckle and wrist, then sighs and rubs her eyes. He left here under his own power,
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
looking normal, she calls to the cat. Who did he say he was going to see? The cat sits in a beam of
sunlight falling in through the high glass window, pointedly showing her its back. Merde! If you're not
going to help him
Try the Grass Market, sulks the cat. He was going to see the Franklin Collective. Much goodthey'll
do him....
* * *
A man wearing second-hand Chinese combat fatigues and a horribly expensive pair of glasses bounces
up a flight of damp stone steps beneath a keystone that announces the building to be a Salvation Army
hostel. He bangs on the door, his voice almost drowned out by the pair of Cold War Reenactment
Society MiGs that are buzzing the castle up the road: Open up! You goata deal cummin!
A peephole set in the door at eye-level slides to one side, and a pair of beady black-eyed video
cameras peer out at him. Who are you and what do you want? the speaker crackles.
I'm Macx, he says. You've heard from my systems: I'm here to offer you a deal you can't refuse. At
least that's what his glasses tell him to say: what comes out of his mouth sounds a bit more likeah'm
Macx: yiv hurdfrae mahsystem, ahm hereta gie yer a deal ye cannae refuse. The glasses haven't had
long enough to work on his accent. Meanwhile, he's so full of himself that he snaps his fingers and does a
little dance of impatience on the top step.
Aye, well, hold on a minute. The person on the other side of the speakerphone has the kind of
cut-glass Morningside accent that manages to sound more English than the King while remaining
vernacular Scots. The door opens and Macx finds himself confronted by a tall, slightly cadaverous man
wearing a tweed suit that has seen better days and a clerical collar cut from a translucent circuit board.
His face is almost concealed behind a pair of recording angel goggles. Who did you say you were?
I'm Macx! Manfred Macx! I'm here with an opportunity you wouldn't fooking believe. I've got the
answer to your Church's financial situation. I'm going to make you rich! The glasses prompt, and Macx
speaks.
The man in the doorway tilts his head slightly, goggles scanning Macx from head to foot. Bursts of blue
combustion products spurt from Macx's heels as he bounces up and down enthusiastically. Are you sure
ye've got the right address? he asks worriedly.
Aye, am thit.
The resident backs into the hostel: Well then, come in, sit yourself down and tell me all about it.
Macx bounces into the room with his brain wide-open to a blizzard of pie charts and growth curves,
documents spawning in the bizarre phase-space of his corporate management software. I've got a deal
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]