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

toward the tray at the bedside.
"You must be hungry. It is time to break your fast and regain your strength.
Come and eat."
I make my way over to the table. The tray has a bowl of steaming soup on it
and a couple of sandwiches. I pick up one of the sandwiches and bite into it,
making it vanish, then start on another. It is the best food I have ever
tasted, although I have trouble recalling ever tasting anything be-

fore. The old man seems amused by my hunger and watches quietly for a moment.
He moves over to an open spot on the floor and sinks into a cross-legged
position with much more grace than I'd expect from an old man. He takes some
devices from his bag and sets them up on the floor in a pattern that seems
strangely familiar, like so many things. It brushes against my mind teasingly,
but retreats when I try to grasp hold of it. While he arranges the items on
the floor to his satisfaction, I finish the other sandwich and begin drinking
the soup. It's very good, too. The warmth of it spreads out from my stomach
and makes me feel safe and comfortable for the first time since I awoke. The
old man waits quietly for me to finish eating before speaking to me again.
"Come," he says in a tone that's more inviting than commanding. "Sit with me
and tell me what you saw in the Resonance and we will interpret the images and
omens."
I look for a long moment at the serene old man sitting on the floor and I
decide there is no point in lying to him.
"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. What is this 'resonance' and
who are you?"
He cocks his head like a quizzical bird and looks at me with his dark eyes for
a moment, like he is looking into the depths of my soul. Then he waves his
hand toward the clear spot on the floor in front of him.
"Sit, and I will explain," he says.
I make my way over, inside the small ring of technological gear, and sit down
with my legs folded up beneath me, resting on my knees and settling my weight
on my heels, different from the old man's lotus position, but it feels
comfortable. I study his face and appearance, sitting there like a smiling
Buddha, and try to place him in my memory.
"Do you know me?" I ask.
"I do," he says. "I am called Papa Lo and you are one of my pupils,
apprenticed to me to learn the secrets of the world of light."
A spark of hope ignites inside me. "What's my name?"
He shrugs, a gesture that carries considerable calm and acceptance of what is.
"I took your name from you before

you left," Papa Lo says, like it's something he tells everyone when they wake
up not remembering who they are. "You're the only one who can find out what
your new one is.
"You are part of our tribe. We are called the Netwalkers and we live in the
Rox, a section of the Boston sprawl, like many other tribes we trade with. You
had no family or means, so we took you in off the streets. You became part of
our community, and you showed you had the potential to experience the
Resonance."
"You mentioned that before," I say. "What is this resonance? Is that why I