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

another sign of the gulf that separated her from her son; the thought of
allowing such a thing to be implanted in her skull made her shudder.
Robert came back to her with a visible shake. "Sorry, Mom. I've got to
go. There's a crisis at the office. Efficiency ratings came in on the half hour
on the web." He grimaced. "We came in almost two percent low. Looks
like some of the staff's been daydreaming when they should have been
working. At least one of the younger women seems to have been storing
interactive fantasies in the office Praxcelis. That would be bad enough
anywhere, but at Praxcelis Corporation itself.... There's going to be hell to
pay." He stooped hurriedly, and kissed his mother on her cheek. "I'll be
back next Saturday; Sunday at the latest. You call me if you need
anything. Anything at all, you hear me?"
Maggie nodded. "Always."
Robert hesitated at the door. "Mom? Don't let them scare you.
Praxcelis is just a machine. You hang tough."
Maggie chuckled, and said again, "Always." She waved a hand at him.
"Go already. Take care of this dangerous criminal who's been storing
fantasies on you."
"'Bye." He was gone.
"Goodbye, Robert," she said to the closed door. Miss Kitty purred
inquiringly. Maggie held the cat up and looked her in the eyes. Miss Kitty's
eyes peered back at her, bright blue and inquisitive. "Don't worry, Miss
Kitty. Computers. Ha."


Realtime:
To be precise; any processing of data that occurs within sufficiently
short duration that the results of the processed data are available in time
to influence or alter the system being monitored or controlled.


On the evening of Sunday, March 14, 2033, Maggie Archer turned on
her fireplace. A switch activated the holograph that simulated a roaring
fire; buried within the holograph, radiant heaters came to life. Maggie
would have preferred real wood, and real fire; but like so much else,
burning wood was illegal. There had been a joke when Maggie was a little
girl; all things that are not mandatory are forbidden.
For Maggie, at least, that phrase was no longer a joke.
There were times when she thought, very seriously, that she had lived
too long. Humanity might not be happy, but it was content. Moving her
rocker near the fire, she settled in, and was soon lost in reverie. It was
hard, sometimes, to trace the exact changes that had led to this joyless,
sterile society, where children aged rather than grew. Oh, things were
always changing, of course, even when she was very young technology had
changed things. But for such a long time the changes had always seemed
for the better. Spaceships, and machinery that polluted less, better and
clearer musical instruments and equipment, a thousand kitchen and
home tools that had made every task infinitely simpler.
She hardly noticed when the timer turned the stereo on, and gentle
strains of Bach drifted through the room.