"Stephen Kenson - Technobabel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenson Stephen)

I don't know how long I keep driving, or where I drive to. I just need to get
away from that place and the memories of the ghoul. My mind panics, but my
body seems to know where it's going, so I let it drive for a while. I'm some
distance away-at least I think so-before I return to anything resembling
rational thought and check out my surroundings. I realize that driving around
in an open van loaded with full body bags is probably a very bad idea, so I
find an out-

of-the-way alley where I park the van and leave it behind. I wonder if the
body-snatchers or ghouls will find it again and try and make use of the bodies
remaining inside. I'm tempted for a moment to find some way of blowing the
whole van sky-high, creating a funeral pyre for those unknown people who fill
the black vinyl bags. It's a useless idea because I don't have any means to do
so and an explosion would be a sure way of attracting unwanted attention. In
the end I just leave the van behind with a silent prayer that the spirits of
its occupants are at rest.
Jamming my hands into my pockets, I walk carefully out of the alley, looking
all around me for any signs of trouble. It's still night and the city is alive
all around me. I can see more lights and activity a few blocks ahead, along
what looks like the main drag, the streets lit by the glow of neon signs,
street lamps, and holograms flickering from badly tuned projectors in store
fronts. The night air is cool, and the light on the street is inviting enough
for me to head toward it. I pass through the shadows and cut through an
alleyway to reach the strip.
The alley is filled with the heavy smell of food cooking. My stomach rumbles
loud enough to be heard in the narrow alley, and I realize I have no idea how
long since I last ate, but it seems like it must have been a long time.
Thoughts of noodles and rice and vegetables fill my thoughts and make my mouth
water.
I turn out of the alley and look into the scratched armor-plas window of a
shop displaying some cheap trideo sets among all the other electronic junk for
sale. One set is showing a piece of softcore pornography, the naked
holographic figures writhing in slow motion through the static while the other
set is tuned to a news channel where a plastic talking-head speaks in an
evenly pitched, cheerful voice that sounds happy to tell you about the worst
atrocities. I stop for a moment to watch.
"Locally, the stock market reports another active day of trading in which the
Dow is up some seven points. Renraku Computer Systems stock continues to
maintain the strongest increase following the company's release of their
latest

algorithms for the development of sophisticated Matrix interface experiences.
These algorithms form the basis for simsense and the virtual reality of the
Matrix. A local Renraku spokesperson is quoted as saying 'Renraku is
redefining the state of the art.' Other stock-market watchers in the Boston
metroplex ..."
Boston. I'm in Boston. That should mean something to me, but for some reason,
it doesn't. The voice on the trideo drones on about the opinions of men in
suits regarding the mystic movements of the stock market and the advancements
of Renraku and what the other megacorporations are going to do about it. An