"Bruce Sterling & Lewis Shiner - Mozart in Mirrorshades" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sterling Bruce)

Bruce Sterling
Bruce Sterling began publishing science fiction in 1976, and his first novel, the picaresque extraplanetary
adventureInvolution Ocean, was published the following year. Shortly after, he made his mark with a series of
visionary short stories about bioengineering and prosthetic transformation set in his Shaper/Mechanist universe
which culminated in the novelSchismatrix. With the publication ofIslands in the Netin 1988, Sterling came to be
regarded as one of the most provocative writers in the cyberpunk medium, and confirmed his role as its leading
prophet with his groundbreaking Mirrorshadesanthology. His novels, which frequently focus on the cultural
dislocation and social alienation that has come with the information age and computer revolution, include Heav
Weather, Holy Fire, and the satiricalDistraction. His short fiction has been collected inCrystal Express, Globalhead
A Good Old-Fashioned Future.

Lewis Shiner
Although Lewis Shiner entered the fiction world with the burgeoning cyberpunk movement of the early 1980
prefers not to be bound by the tropes of any one literary genre or movement, instead writing fiction that transce
these limitations. When he does write science fiction or fantasy, as in the novelsFrontera, Deserted Cities of the H
andGlimpses, he combines realistic extrapolations of the future with sparse prose that acknowledges elements o
mystery and literary fiction as well. He is also an accomplished short story writer, with more than thirty-five sto
published in all fiction areas, from childrenтАЩs books to fantasy to horror. He has also written several nonfiction
articles, including an appreciation of James P. Blaylock and articles forThe New York Review of Science Fiction
edited the anthologyWhen the MusicтАЩs Over.

MOZART IN MIRRORSHADES
FROM THE HILL north of the city, Rice saw eighteenth-century Salzburg spread out below him like a half-eaten lu

Huge cracking towers and swollen, bulbous storage tanks dwarfed the ruins of the St. Rupert Cathedral. Thick whit
smoke billowed from the refineryтАЩs stacks. Rice could taste the familiar petrochemical tang from where he sat, under the
leaves of a wilting oak.

The sheer spectacle of it delighted him. You didnтАЩt sign up for a time-travel project, he thought, unless you had a tas
incongruity. Like the phallic pumping station lurking in the central square of the convent, or the ruler-straight elevated
pipelines ripping through SalzburgтАЩs maze of cobbled streets. A bit tough on the city, maybe, but that was hardly RiceтАЩs
The temporal beam had focused randomly in the bedrock below Salzburg, forming an expandable bubble connecting thi
world to RiceтАЩs own time.

This was the first time heтАЩd seen the complex from outside its high chain-link fences. For two years, heтАЩd been up to
neck getting the refinery operational. HeтАЩd directed teams all over the planet, as they caulked up Nantucket whalers to s
as tankers, or trained local pipefitters to lay down line as far away as the Sinai and the Gulf of Mexico.

Now, finally, he was outside. Sutherland, the companyтАЩs political liaison, had warned him against going into the city.
Rice had no patience with her attitude. The smallest thing seemed to set Sutherland off. She lost sleep over the most triv
local complaints. She spent hours haranguing the тАЬgate people,тАЭ the locals who waited day and night outside the square-
complex, begging for radios, nylons, a jab of penicillin.

To hell with her, Rice thought. The plant was up and breaking design records, and Rice was due for a little R and R
way he saw it, anyone who couldnтАЩt find some action in the Year of Our Lord 1775 had to be dead between the ears. H
stood up, dusting windblown soot from his hands with a cambric handkerchief.
 A moped sputtered up the hill toward him, wobbling crazily. The rider couldnтАЩt seem to keep his high-heeled, buckl
pumps on the pedals while carrying a huge portable stereo in the crook of his right arm. The moped lurched to a stop at
respectful distance, and Rice recognized the music from the tape player: Symphony No. 40 in G Minor.