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

Three and a half years have passed. . . .

Trent the Uncatchable
and the Temple of 'Toons
2080 Gregorian
Ahimsa, infinite love, is a weapon of matchless
potency . . . It is an attribute of the brave, in fact
it is their all. It does not come within the reach of
the coward. It is no wooden or lifeless dogma but
a living and lifegiving force.
-- Mohandes K. Gandhi, 1924 Gregorian
Remember you don't really own anything you
can't carry at a dead run.
-- Unknown
-1-
The assassin in the rented p-suit, floating next to the holo of a crucified Porky Pig, said, "Are you Trent?"

Trent said, "No."

Through the faceplate of the assassin's p-suit, Trent could see the man shake his head. "Too bad." He
brought forward the gun he had been trying to hide behind his back.

Trent said, "I wouldn't do that."

Behind the assassin, Porky Pig's beatified holographic image radiated love and compassion. The assassin
said, "I'm sorry about this."

He aimed carefully and fired twice.

The bullets left the barrel of the gun at 850 meters per second and struck Trent square in the chest.
Trent's camouflage scalesuit went rigid all over under the impact; the shots knocked him from his feet,
sent him tumbling backward twenty meters through the vacuum, across the rocky surface of the asteroid,
through the Roadrunner exhibit --

"Beep! Beep beep!" The Roadrunner zipped out of the way; the Coyote came alive and chased Trent
through their display, missed him of course, fingers clutching after Trent's toes as Trent's scalesuited body
left the Roadrunner exhibit and tumbled on into the Ren and Stimpy exhibit, fetching up against the
backdrop. Ren came alive and screamed "You iiiidiot!" as Trent broke the laser beam that informed the
holo of the presence of an audience. "Look what you've done!"

There was no air in his lungs and his chest ached as though it had been struck by a sledgehammer. Trent
sipped air in shallow gasps, waiting for the pain to go away, waiting until he could breathe again. He
stared up at the stars through his helmet's faceplate; the stars stared back down at him, cool and distant
and indifferent to one genie's brush with death.
Off somewhere to his left, Sol shone, a light so bright his faceplate blacked it out.

He thought distantly, Downsider.

". . .the Big Sleep, you stupid, bloated fool . . ."