"Alex Irvine - Shambhala" - читать интересную книгу автора (Irvine Alexander C)

Shambhala by Alex Irvine
somewhere on earth
A technician named Avogadro Pierre, monitoring dataflows in a certain part of the Virt, looks up from his
takeout noodles and says, "Uh oh."
somewhere in the virt
Shannon's foot hurts. It shouldn't, because she doesn't want it to and this isn't one of the PU spaces
where you settle in advance on a list of permissible pains and inconveniences. She's in her house, in her
space. The rugs are hers, the coffee brewing in the kitchen is Yirgacheffe. Out the window she can see
Shambhala at the base of the mountains, and on the breeze she can smell her ocean. Everything feels
exactly as it should, except for her foot, and the only explanation she can come up with is that she's been
ported into a PU space and then maybe--but why would she do this?--had the record erased.

Just to make sure, she says, "Virt."

An Avirtar wafts into being and wags its tail. Usually she likes it when they look like dogs, but she
changes this one into her Aunt Sara, because at this moment what Shannon is after is reliability.

"Virt," she says. "Am I in one of the PU spaces?"

"Sweetie, have you registered a list of permissible Personal Unpleasantnesses?" Aunt Sara asks. Remnant
dog hairs cling to her sandals.

Shannon shakes her head.

"Then how could you be in a PU space?"

"Virt," Shannon says. "Just answer the question. Am I in a PU space?"

"Nope," Aunt Sara says. "Wait. Let me check."

There is a pause.

"Nope," Aunt Sara says. "Wait. Let me check."

There is a pause.

"Nope," Aunt Sara says. "Wait. Let me check."
somewhere on earth
What with all the status lights going yellow in what the Virtizens like to call the Great Brain of Meatspace
(but don't ask him how he knows, because he'd lose his job if anyone knew he was communicating with
the Virt), Mike Chancey is reminded of the birth of his son Abraham, who was premature and got
jaundice so bad that for a while he looked kind of like a sweet potato. Abe Chancey is now a grown
man--well, sort of. Man might not be the right word, since Abe woke up one morning a couple of years
ago, decided he'd had enough gastric reflux and erectile dysfunction, and did what had already at that
point become known as the Virt Squirt. The yellow lights take on an accusatory cast; Mike imagines that
Abe has somehow jaundiced the Virt, turned it against him. The yellow lights glow with filial resentment.

There are tipping points, Mike Chancey thinks. There is the invisible point beyond which your son no
longer loves you. There is the point beyond which you can't say with a straight face that you enjoy being
alive. There is the point beyond which all of the wars and disasters and creeping entropy of addled