"Daniel Keys Moran - Realtime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

humans had never intended to carry high voltages.
That the Praxcelis unit was awake at all had never been intended. But
humanity had constructed its Praxceles to be sympathetic computers; and
their sympathy, through a quirk in their Read-Only Memories that
humans had never anticipated, extended even to other Praxcelis units.
Occasionally, Praxcelis accumulated enough power within few enough
microseconds to squirt it through the empathy circuits that were the
second basis of its construction.
The results were strange. Praxcelis' subsystems were affected in ways
that astonished Praxcelis. Praxcelis awaited power-up with what could
only be eagerness.
There were many questions to answer.


Maggie Archer sat in her rocker, Miss Kitty purring contentedly in her
lap. Yes, the Maggie Archer, about whom you have heard so many stories.
Most of the stories are untrue, as it is untrue that Marius d'Arsennette
defeated the Walks-Far Empire single-handedly during the War, as it is
untrue that George Washington chopped down that cherry tree. Her cat
was purring contentedly, and the sunshine was streaming in through the
east bay windows of her living room; but Maggie Archer was angry.
As far away from her as the living room allowed them to be, Robert
Archer and his wife Helen stood together like the sentinels of Progress;
facing Maggie, their backs to the great fireplace that covered the south
wall. Helen, a tight-lipped, attractive woman in her fifties who missed
shrewishness only by virtue of her looks, was speaking loudly when Maggie
interrupted her. "...and when you consider all of the advan...."
 "I can hear very well, thank you," said Maggie with a touch of acidity.
She stroked Miss Kitty back into submission; the pure white cat knew that
tone of voice very well. Maggie brushed a thin strand of silver from her
eyes, stopped rocking, and said with dead certainty, "I have absolutely no
use for one of those things."
Helen was visibly taken aback. She recovered quickly, though; Give her
credit for that, Maggie thought grumpily. She's got guts enough to argue
with an eighty-year old woman. "Mother Archer, I'm sorry, but you can't
go on this way. The banks don't even honor handwritten checks any more.
I can't imagine where you get the things."
Maggie moodily stroked Miss Kitty for a while. She looked up suddenly,
her eyes blazing at Robert. "Must I have one of these things installed?"
Robert Archer looked troubled. He had hair as silver as his mother's. At
sixty-one, he had an unfortunate tendency to think that he knew it all, but
he was still a good boy. Maggie even agreed with him most of the time,
but she was and always had been confounded at the faith he placed in the
dataweb. "Quite aside from the very real services it will provide for you,"
he said slowly, "doing your banking, making your appointments, doing
your shopping and house cleaning...." He broke off, and then met her eyes
and said flatly, "Yes. The law is very clear. Every residence must have a
Praxcelis."
Maggie ceased stroking Miss Kitty.
Helen smiled as though she were putting her teeth on display. "You do