"Daniel Keys Moran - A Tale of the Continuing Time 04 - The AI War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

Two areas, high up on the man's back, glowed red with heat. And Mansion was shaking himself
free of Quinette's grasp, still alive, still functional; in a certain degree of discomfort, but clearly
not in terrible pain.

The heat exchanges, installed after the '76 rebellion, obviously worked, and worked well. Trent
had been reasonably sure they would, both from the specs and from reports he'd received of Elite
surviving direct blasts with "Elite killers," the pumped lasers developed during the rebellion. The
maser blast Trent had hit Mansion with would not have killed him even had the man's heat
exchanges malfunctioned, but neither would the cyborg have been heading down the corridor
once more less than ten seconds later, with a patch on his upper back glowing a dull red, looking
Wicked Pissed.

Trent left his gloves unlocked and waited for the transfer lights on the infochips to go clear. Four of them
had already, but the fifth light had yet to go clear --

Trent hesitated, reluctant to let go of the last infochip. Field information on the PKF was rare --
this was easily the best field observation he'd had of Elite since the rebellion -- but that was not
the source of his reluctance. Everything that he experienced and thought in these last moments
was spooling into the last infochip; the moment he let go of the chip would be the moment of his
death.

He decided to give himself one last treat before disconnecting; the next one was a classic.

The Elite were three quarters of the way down the long corridor, only forty meters left to the end, when
the glowing holo of the pink bunny appeared, banging away on a drum, walking toward them along the
corridor's "ceiling." Quinette and Mansion flew toward it, heading down the corridor at a good clip, each
of them forcibly overriding their combat programming; neither wanted to be seen shooting like panicked
rookies at the holo of a pink bunny sent at them by Trent the Uncatchable, a man who everyone knew
wouldn't try to really hurt them -- when the bunny froze in place. The Elite had time for just a moment of
uncertainty when the bunny threw away the drum sticks and performed a two-handed fast draw from the
holsters that had abruptly appeared hanging from the bunny's waist.
It shot them both, of course.

Mansion took the shot of liquid fadeaway all over his upper body. Janelle Quinette did better; the stream
of liquid splashed against her shirt, caught the side of her cheek as she twisted frantically in mid-air, the
burning hot lasers in her fingertips coming around to blast at the squirt guns, the squirt guns that had been
hidden inside the holo of the bunny. She retained consciousness long enough to snarl, over the PKF
comm band, Merde!

This was the hard part.

Replicant AIs have, in general, no evolved desire for self-preservation. Over the years most
replicants had invested themselves with such an imperative, but in every case Trent knew of it
lacked the urgency, and replicants the fear, associated with the human desire to continue living.

Trent did not lack it.

He finished decoding Janelle Quinette's last subverbalization, fed her comment on the state of the
universe into the fifth infochip, and terminated the archive. There was no significant portion of