"Alastair Reynolds - Chasm City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

still have died, but that would have been a manageable catastrophe, something from which
we could have recovered. But the plague went beyond mere destruction, into a realm much
closer to artistry, albeit an artistry of a uniquely perverted and sadistic kind. It caused our
machines to evolve uncontrollably-out of our control, at least-seeking bizarre new
symbioses. Our buildings turned into Gothic nightmares, trapping us before we could
escape their lethal transfigurations. The machines in our cells, in our blood, in our heads,
began to break their shackles-blurring into us, corrupting living matter. We became
glistening, larval fusions of flesh and machine. When we buried the dead they kept growing,
spreading together, fusing with the city's architecture.

It was a time of horror.
It is not yet over.

And yet, like any truly efficient plague, our parasite was careful not to kill its host population
entirely. Tens of millions died-but tens of millions more reached some kind of sanctuary,
hiding within hermetically sealed enclaves in the city or orbit. Their medichines were given
emergency destruct orders, converting themselves to dust which was flushed harmlessly out
of the body. Surgeons worked furiously to tear implants from heads before traces of the
plague reached them.
Other citizens, too strongly wedded to their machines to give them up, sought a kind of
escape in reefersleep. They elected to be buried in sealed community cryocrypts . . . or to
leave the system entirely. Meanwhile, tens of millions more poured into Chasm City from
orbit, fleeing the destruction of the Glitter Band. Some of those people had been amongst
the wealthiest in the system, yet now they were as poor as any historical refugees. What
they found in Chasm City could hardly have comforted them . . .

-Excerpt from an introductory document for newcomers, freely available in
circum-Yellowstone space, 2517


ONE


Darkness was falling as Dieterling and I arrived at the base of the bridge.
"There's one thing you need to know about Red Hand Vasquez," Dieterling said. "Don't
ever call him that to his face."
"Why not?"

"Because it pisses him off."
"And that's a problem?" I brought our wheeler to near-halt, then parked it amongst a motley
row of vehicles lining one side of the street. I dropped the stabilisers, the overheated turbine
smelling like a hot gun barrel. "It's not like we usually worry about the feelings of lowlives," I
said.
"No, but this time it might be best to err on the side of caution. Vasquez may not be the
brightest star in the criminal firmament, but he's got friends and a nice little line in extreme
sadism. So be on your best behaviour."

"I'll give it my best shot."

"Yeah-and do your best not to leave too much blood on the floor in the process, will you?"