"Michael Marshall Smith - More Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Michael Marshall) MORE TOMORROW
by Michael Marshall Smith I got a new job a couple of weeks ago. ItтАЩs pretty much the same as my old job, but at a much nicer company. What I do is trouble-shoot computers and their software, and yes, I know that sounds dull. People tell me so all the time. Not in words, exactly, but in their glassy smiles and their awkward тАШletтАЩs be nice to the droneтАЩ demeanour. ItтАЩs a strange phenomenon, really, the whole тАШcomputer people are losersтАЩ mentality. All around the world, in every office in every building, people are using computers day in, day out. Every now and then, these machines go wrong. TheyтАЩre bound to: theyтАЩre complex systems, like a human body, or society. When someone gets hurt, you call in a doctor. When a riot breaks out, itтАЩs the police that тАУ for once тАУ you want to see on your doorstep. Similarly, if your word processor starts dumping files or your hard disk goes non-linear, itтАЩs someone like me you need. Someone who actually understands the box of magic which sits on your desk, and can make it all lovely again. But do we get any thanks, any kudos for being the emergency services of the late twentieth century? Do we fuck. I can understand it to a degree. There are enough nerds and geeks around to make it seem like a losing way of life. But there are plenty of pretty random earthlings doing all the other jobs too, and no one expects them to turn up for work in a pin-wheel hat and a T-shirt saying тАШProgrammers do it recursivelyтАЩ. For the record, I play reasonable blues guitar, IтАЩve been out with a girl and have worked undercover for the CIA. The last bit isnтАЩt true, of course, but you get the general idea. Up until recently I worked for a computer company, which was full of very perfunctory human beings. When people started passing around jokes which were written in C++, I decided it was time to go. One of the other fixing themselves, and so I called a few contacts, posted a CV up on the Internet and within twenty-four hours had seven opportunities to choose from. Most of them were other computer businesses, which I was kind of keen to avoid, and in the end I decided to have a crack at a company called the VCA. I put on my pin-wheel hat, rubbed pizza on my shirt, and strolled along for an interview. The VCA, it transpired, was a non-profit organisation dedicated to promoting effective business communication. The suave but shifty chief executive who interviewed me seemed a little vague as to what this actually entailed, and in the end I let it go. The company was situated in tidy new offices right in the centre of town, and seemed to be doing good trade at whatever it was they did. The reason they needed someone like me was they wanted to upgrade their system, computers, software and all. It was a monthтАЩs contract work, at a very decent rate, and I said yes without a second thought. Whitehead, the guy in charge, took me for a gloating tour round the office. It looked the same as they always do, only emptier, because everyone was out at lunch. Then I started down with their spreadsheet-basher to find out what kind of system they could afford. His name was Egerton, and he wasnтАЩt out at lunch because he was clearly one of those people who see working nine-hour days as worthy of some form of admiration. Personally I view it as worthy of pity, at most. He seemed amiable enough, in a curly-haired, irritating sort of way, and within half an hour weтАЩd thrashed out the necessary. I made some calls, arranged to come back in a few days, and spent the rest of the afternoon helping build a hospital in Rwanda. Well, actually I spent it listening to loud music and catching up on my Internet newsgroups, but I could have done the other had I been so inclined. The Internet is one of those things that more and more people have heard of without having any real idea of what it means. ItтАЩs actually very simple. A while back a group of universities and government organisations experimented with a way of linking up all their computers so they could share resources, send little messages and play Star Trek games with each other. After a time this network started to take on a momentum of its own, with everyone from Pentagon heavies to pin-wheeling wireheads taking it upon themselves to find new ways of connecting things up and making more information available. Just about every major computer on the planet is now connected, and if youтАЩve |
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