"Back Door Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

УWait. What about a back door?Ф

It was suddenly moving too quickly. Crane hadnТt even seen the schematics yet, and now they were firing up the connection and the virtuality was beginning to bleed into reality. Red fluttered at the edge of his vision. He tried to sit up, but two of the techs pressed him back down.

УWait,Ф he said. УWait just a minute ЧФ

But then it didnТt matter, because he was somewhere else.

A RED-BROWN PLAIN stretching away like a beach waiting for the tide to turn, coarse sand and gravel littered with rocks of all sizes. The sky pinkish at the horizon, darkening to indigo at the zenith. Two thumbnail crescents up there, pale as soap.

УMars. IТm on Mars.Ф

Crane seemed to be inhabiting his own body, wearing his leather jacket and green denims. This avatar, his point of view and representative within the virtuality, was an exact replica of his own self, built from the tomographic scan. He had no sense of lying on the couch. He was standing on the crest of a transverse dune, one third his normal weight, breathing thin cold air that was already drying his sinuses. The coarse sand was the color of old blood. He kicked at it. Grains clung to the toe of his boot.

Crane called for jeeves, but of course the agent did not answer. It lived in the Internet along with millions of its kind, assembling itself upon request from fragments scattered across a hundred sites. CraneТs slate was clipped to his belt. When he switched it on, it beeped cheerily and lit with the icons of his toolkit; despite the secretaryТs reservations, one of the techs had made a virtual copy and ported it to AndressonТs supercomputer.

Crane called up the codes that generated the corner of the virtuality he inhabited, but they were no different from the usual subroutines. More densely iterated, that was all. He could find no ripcord or crash exit. He was in here until they pulled him back. Or until he found Barbara Andresson. She must know the way back. If it was working. If she wanted to leave.

УIТm a lineman, not a shrink,Ф Crane said. The thin cold wind took away his words.

Something gleamed in the distance, and for want of anything else to do Crane started toward it. The sense of inhabiting his body was absolute. He really might be on Mars. The interface was incredible, years ahead of anything else Crane had used. Andresson would make a fortune, as long as there was a way back out.

The gleam was water, a wide canal stretching away as straight as a line of longitude. As Crane neared the canal he saw palm trees along its banks, curved above their own reflections. They had not been there a moment ago. The virtuality was shaping itself around him, taking on more details. Crane found it interesting rather than alarming. HeТd have to be careful what he thought about, though. WouldnТt want one of those carnivorous warlords riding down on him.

As he stepped into the shade of the palms, he saw that someone was rowing across the still black water of the canal. A small cockleshell boat; a slim young woman in a white dress and a straw sunhat bent at the oars. Crane crabbed down the steep bank and helped her out of the boat. She looked at him from beneath the brim of her sunhat. Blue eyes, a ready smile in a heart-shaped face.

УDr. Andresson, I presume,Ф Crane said, thinking that the hard part was already over. She didnТt look like the old woman at all, but in virtuality you could look like anyone or anything. The woman reminded him of someone. Some saga star probably. A popular default amongst virtuality designers.

But the woman shook her head. УWho are you?Ф she said. УAnd where am I?Ф

She said that her name was Gabriel Hale. She had been working on an artificial life project in UCLA, and had stepped through into the Mars virtuality.

УThatТs impossible,Ф Crane said. УThis isnТt hooked up to the Internet.Ф

УThere was a little girl here,Ф Gabriel Hale said. УShe ran right at me! Knocked me down, took the key.Ф

УA little girl.Ф

УAnd a little dog.Ф

They sat side by side on a litter of brown fronds beneath the palms. Weak sunlight fell through the rustling crowns above, striped the cold red sand. Crane sifted a handful of grains. They were all alike, carved with a womanТs face. A programmerТs joke. GodТs thumbprint manifest in the world.

Crane said, УThat was probably Barbara Andresson. The owner of all this. She must have morphed herself into a little girl. The dog would be her agent. Where did she go?Ф

УShe took the key! I have to have it back! Will you get it back for me? Will you find her?Ф

Her sudden intensity surprised him. He laughed. УThatТs Сwhy IТm here. Where did she go?Ф

УShe took it and ran away. I can show you where she went, but it closed after her.Ф