"James Patrick Kelly - The Prisoner of Chillon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

again," he said slowly.
"Cog-ni-zor." Bonivard actually seemed to enjoy baiting Django. "With
the right hardware and database, it can sing, dance, make friends, and
influence people."
He was pushing Django way too hard. "I thought they decided you can't
engineer human intelligence," I said, trying to break the tension. "Something
about quantum mechanics -- mind is to brain as wave is to particle. Or
something." Damn Bonivard for crashing the fact checker!
"Have it your way," said Bonivard. "Pretend WILDLIFE is Cognico's
personnel database and I'm head-hunting for an executive secretary. Good help
is hard to find."
I knew my laugh sounded like braying but I didn't mind; I was scared
they would needle one other. At the same time I was measuring the distance to
the door. To my immense relief, Django chuckled too. And slipped the WILDLIFE
chips back into his pocket.
"I'm burned out," he said. "Maybe we should wait." He stood up and
stretched. "Even if we make an exchange tonight, we'd have a couple of hours
of verifications to go through, no? We'll start fresh tomorrow." He picked up
one of the cash cards and turned it over several times between the long
fingers of his left hand. Suddenly it was gone. He reached into the vegetable
bowl with his right hand, pulled the cash card from between two carrots, and
tossed it at Bonivard. It slid across the table and almost went over the edge.
"Shouldn't leave valuable stuff like this lying around. Someone might steal
it."
Django's mocking sleight of hand had an unexpected effect. Bonivard's
claw hand started to tremble; he seemed upset at the delay. "It might be
months, or years, or days -- I kept no count, I took no note...." He muttered
the words like some private incantation; when he opened his eyes, he had
regained his composure. "I had no hope my eyes to raise, and clear them of
their dreary mote." He looked at me. "Will you be requiring pharmaceuticals
too?"
"No, thanks. I like to stay clean when I'm working."
"Admirable," he said as the wiseguys bounced back into the hall. "Ich
ziehe mich fuer die Nacht zurueck. Id and Ego will show you to your rooms;
take what you need." He rolled through a door to the north without another
word. Django and I were left staring at each other. "What did I tell you?"
asked Django.
I couldn't think of anything to say. The hall echoed with the sound of
the wiseguys bouncing.
"Squirrelware." Django tapped a finger against his temple.
 I was awfully sick of Django. "I'm going to bed."
"Can I come?"
"Stick it." I had to get away from him, to escape. But by the time I
reached the hall leading to the stairs, I realized my mistake. I could feel it
behind the eyes, like the first throbs of a migraine headache. I'd run out of
things to report; now there was no one else to watch but myself. Without the
microcam to protect me, memory closed in. Maybe it was because Bonivard had
mentioned my famous father, whom I was still trying not to hate fifteen years
after he'd left me. Or maybe it was because now I had to let go of Yellowbaby,
past tense. Actually the Babe wasn't that much of a loss, just the most recent