"Rudy Rucker and Bruce Sterling - Junk DNA" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

childhood.
And so life went for Janna Gutierrez, every dreary day on the calendar foreclosing some way out. Until
the fateful September when Veruschka Zipkinova arrived from Russia, fresh out of biohazard quarantine.
The zany Zipkinova marched into Triple Helix toting a fancy briefcase with video display built into its
piezoplastic skin. Veruschka was clear-eyed and firm-jawed, with black hair cut very short. She wore a
formal black jogging suit with silk stripes on the legs. Her Baltic pallor was newly reddened by California
sunburn. She was very thoroughly made up. Lipstick, eye shadow, nails -- the works.
She fiercely demanded a specific slate of bio-hardware and a big wad of start-up money. Janna's boss
was appalled at Veruschka's archaic approach -- didn't this Russki woman get it that the New Economy
was even deader than Leninism? It fell to the luckless Janna to throw Veruschka out of the building.
"You are but a tiny cog," said Veruschka, accurately summing-up Janna's cubicle. "But you are
intelligent, yes, I see this in your eyes. Your boss gave me the brush-off. I did not realize Triple Helix is
run by lazy morons."
"We're all quite happy here," said Janna lightly. The computer was, of course, watching her. "I wonder
if we could take this conversation off-site? That's what's required, you see. For me to get you out of the
way."
"Let me take you to a fine lunch at Denny's," said Veruschka with sudden enthusiasm. "I love Denny's
so much! In Petersburg, our Denny's always has long lines that stretch down the street!"
Janna was touched. She gently counter-suggested a happening local coffee-shop called the Modelview
Matrix. Cute musicians were known to hang out there.
With the roads screwed and power patchy, it took forever to drive anywhere in California, but at least
traffic fatalities were rare, given that the average modern vehicle had the mass and speed of a golf-cart.
As Janna forded the sunny moonscape of potholes, Veruschka offered her start-up pitch.
"From Russia, I bring to legendary Silicon Valley a breakthrough biotechnology! I need a local
partner, Janna. Someone I can trust."
"Yeah?" said Janna.
"It's a collectible pet."
Janna said nothing, but was instantly hooked.
"In Russia, we have mastered genetic hacking," said Veruschka, "although California is the planet's
legendary source of high-tech marketing."
Janna parked amid a cluster of plastic cars like colored seedpods. Inside, Janna and Veruschka
fetched slices of artichoke quiche.
"So now let me show you," said Veruschka as they took a seat. She placed a potently quivering object
on the tabletop. "I call him Pumpti."
The Pumpti was the size and shape of a Faberg├й egg, pink and red, clearly biological. It was moist,
jiggly, and veined like an internal organ with branching threads of yellow and purple. Janna started to
touch it, then hesitated, torn between curiosity and disgust.
"It's a toy?" she asked. She tugged nervously at a fanged hairclip. It really wouldn't do to have this
blob stain her lavender silk jeans.
The Pumpti shuddered, as if sensing Janna's hovering finger. And then it oozed silently across the table,
dropped off the edge, and plopped damply to the diner's checkered floor.
Veruschka smiled, slitting her cobalt-blue eyes, and leaned over to fetch her Pumpti. She placed it on
a stained paper napkin.
"All we need is venture capital!"
"Um, what's it made of?" wondered Janna.
"Pumpti's substance is human DNA!"
"Whose DNA?" asked Janna.
"Yours, mine, anyone's. The client's." Veruschka picked it up tenderly, palpating the Pumpti with her
lacquered fingertips. "This one is made of me. Once I worked at the St. Petersburg Institute of Molecular
Science. My boss -- well, he was also my boyfriend...." Veruschka pursed her lips. "Wiktor's true