"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 01 - Caverns" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

"Me?" She brushed back a strand of shining black hair, and held McGill
tightly while she hiccupped again. "Why would I want to drop our son?"
"IтАФ" Fondness was so full in him that he could do nothing but smile and
shrug. "Sure and it must have been the tension, Nicky. I'm sorry for raising
my voice and scaring the bejesus out of the both of you. Is there any of that
cake left, do you know? I'm of a mind to snack a bit."
"In the breadbox." Carefully, she pinched the budlike red cheek.
"Mommy's got you, McGill. Mommy's got you."


"All you do," the white-smocked programmer was saying at that moment,
"is type 'MONITOR: FEIGHAN.' The computer will tell youтАФon the screen
here, or from that speaker, or whateverтАФwhere he is. If he's in any of the
one hundred largest US cities or their suburbs, it'll give you a street address
as well, and tell you inside, out front, or out back. If he's traveling, it'll give
you the speed, the direction, the street or highway, and the crosstreets ahead
and behind. Unless he's on a plane or a train, in which case it'll print out the
flight number, his ticketed destination, intermediate stopovers, estimated
time of arrival, and the like. Is that what you wanted?"
Hommroummy, leaning on the terminal, examined the screen. The room
smelled of plastic, metal, and coffee. "Yes," he said at last, "except for one
thing: program it to alert me if he goes more than, say, fifty kilometers away
from his home. Can you do it?"
"Can you find loopholes in tax law?" retorted the programmer. "What
kind of alert do you prefer: bell, buzzer, seductive voice in your ear, what?"
"Bell," said Hommroummy. "No, waitтАФroute it through my pocket
telephone, have that ring, and the voice tell me, when I answer, where he's
going."
"Sure." The programmer lowered himself into the seat in front of the
terminal. "Anything else?"
"How long will that battery last?"
"In the implant-trans?"
"Yes."
"No idea, it's not my job." He turned to the computer and typed "REF: ?
LIFE SPAN BATTERY OF IMPLANT-TRANS #тАФ" He swiveled his head.
"Do you know the number on that?"
"The model number?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't have one."
"Oh." He thought a moment, then tapped in, "ORGANIZATION
STANDARD."
The screen blinked: "INDEFINITE. MELANIN ACTIVATED."
"There you have it," said the programmer. "As long as the kid gets some
sunlight now and then, the battery stays alive, and the computer keeps track
of him. Good enough?"
"That's excellent," said Hommroummy. "Thank you." And he left.


Ice cubes clinked when Nicole lifted her glass, then they slid down its side to
rap her teeth. It was empty. The last sip must have finished it. As she