"Mary Rosenblum - Search Engine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

"We won't need Xuyen." Aman nodded at the icons. "Our runner is organic. Vegan. Artisan craft only, in
clothes and personal items. You could find him all by yourself in about four hours."

"But if he's buying farm-raised and hand-made?" Jimi frowned. "No universal tags on those."

Aman promised himself a talk with Raul, but it probably wouldn't change anything. Not until he got tired
of this one, anyway. "Get real." He got up and crossed to the small nondescript desktop at the back of
the office, camouflaged by an expensive Japanese shoji screen. This was the real workspace. Everything
else was stage-prop, meant to impress clients. "You sell stuff without a u-tag and you suddenly find you
can't get a license, or your E. coli count is too high for an organic permit, or your handspinning operation
might possibly be a front for drug smugglers." He laughed. "Everything has a u-tag in it." Which wasn't
quite true, but knowledge was power. Jimi didn't have any claim on power yet. Not for free.

"Okay." Jimi shrugged. "I'll see if I can beat your four hours. Start with sex?"

"He's not a buyer. I'll do it."

"How come?" Jimi bristled. "Isn't it too easy for you? If even I can do it?"

Aman hesitated, because he wasn't really sure himself. "I just am." He sat down at his workdesk as Jimi
stomped out. Brought up his secure field and transferred the files to it. The runner got his sex for free or
not at all, so no point in searching that. Food was next on the immediacy list. Aman opened his personal
searchware and fed the runner's ID chipprint into it. He wasn't wearing his ID chip any more, or the suit
wouldn't have showed up here. Nobody had figured out yet how to make a birth-implanted ID chip
really permanent. Although they kept trying. Aman's AI stretched its thousand thousand fingers into the
datasphere and started hitting all the retail data pools. Illegal, of course, and retail purchase data was
money in the bank, so it was well protected, but if you were willing to pay, you could buy from the
people who were better than the people who created the protection. Search Engine, Inc. was willing to
pay.

Sure enough, forsale.data had the kid's profile. They were the biggest. Most of the retailers fed directly to
them. Aman pulled the runner's raw consumables data. Forsale profiled, but his AI synthesized a profile
to fit the specific operation. Aman waited the thirty seconds while his AI digested the raw dates,
amounts, prices of every consumable item the runner had purchased from the first credit he spent at a
store to the day he paid to have a back-alley cutter remove his ID chip. Every orange, every stick of
gum, every bottle of beer carried an RNA signature and every purchase went into the file that had
opened the day the runner was bom and the personal ID chip implanted.

The AI finished. The runner was his son's age. Mid-twenties. He looked younger. Testament to the
powers of his vegetarian and organic diet? Aman smiled sourly. Avi would appreciate that. That had
been an early fight and a continuing excuse when his son needed one. Aman scanned the grocery profile.
It had amazed him, when he first got into this field, how much food reflected each person's life and
philosophy. As a child, the runner had eaten a "typical" North American diet with a short list of personal
specifics that Aman skipped. He had become a Gaiist at nineteen. The break was clear in the profile,
with the sudden and dramatic shift of purchases from animal proteins to fish and then vegetable proteins
only. Alcohol purchases flat-lined, although marijuana products tripled, as did wild-harvest hallucinogenic
mushrooms. As he expected, the illegal drug purchase history revealed little. The random nature of his
purchases suggested that he bought the drugs for someone else or a party event rather than for regular
personal consumption. No long-term addictive pattern.