"James Patrick Kelly - Ninety Percent of Everything" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

Although I'd never actually interacted with any of Wetherall's avatars,
I'd seen them before. They gazed serenely from pixes across his financial
empire. From time to time they gave interviews that were lighter than air.
Personally, I found avatars slick and flat as trademarks; whenever I met with
one I felt as if I were chatting up Betty Crocker or Bill Gates. But still,
_Ramsdel Wetherall_. I took the call.
The avatar that filled the screen was roundish and unthreatening. It
had short blond hair, slightly tanned smooth skin, and a not very distinct
chin. It might have been the face of a man in his twenties -- or a
fifty-year-old who had never sweated a mortgage payment. "Professor Cobble?"
 "Call me Liz," I said.
"I'm Ramsdel Wetherall." It smiled as if it'd been waiting all its life
to meet me.
I wanted to say _No, you're not_!
****
It was what I liked least about avatars: they acted as if they were the people
they represented. Ninety-five percent of the time they operated on their own:
buying and selling, lying and telling secrets, flattering and insulting. A
busy billionaire like Wetherall could seem to be in two, three, or eleven
places at once. The catch was that from time to time the original checked in
from afar, and acted and spoke through his digital agent. The real Wetherall
might be looking at me through those vapid eyes.
Possible but not probable.
****
"How can I help you?" I said.
There were several seconds of silence. The avatar's smile got bigger
and goofier, as if the sheer joy of seeing me had struck it dumb.
"Was there something?" I said.
"Would you mind stepping to the window?" it said. Mystified, I got up
and surveyed the campus. A dozen students sunbathed on the quad. Two girls and
a dog were playing catch with a frisbee. A college cop was reading a pix in
the shade of the whale statue.
"Do you see the white Jolly Freeze van parked in front of Gould Hall?"
said the avatar.
I looked. "Yes." It had no customers, it wasn't lit for business, and
it was parked in a handicapped spot. There weren't supposed to be ice cream
trucks on campus anyway.
"Can I interest you in a short ride?"
"Does it come with chocolate sprinkles?"
The avatar laughed uproariously. This worried me -- it wasn't that
funny a joke.
"Turn that smile down, would you?" I said. "It's getting warm in here.
So what's this all about?"
The avatar sobered instantly. "Do you believe the shitdogs are
intelligent?"
I considered. "If you're asking if they're as smart as human beings,
I'd have to say no. Their intelligence is very limited -- in a range somewhere
between a flounder and a football player."
"What about their vocalizations?"
"They bark. So does Lassie."