"Charles Stross - Message in a Time Capsule" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

M*ss*g* *n * t*m* c*ps*l*

by Charles Stross



Story Copyright (C) 2006, Charles Stross.
Images Copyright (C) 2006, Rudy Rucker.
1,100 Words.




тАФ Dash it! Is this gadget turned on, Miss Feng?

тАФ No, I was not enquiring as to its state of sexual arousal, thank you.

тАФ What, it is on, is it? Fascinating! Ahem. Look here, allow me to introduce myself. IтАЩve only got three
hundred of your what-do-you-call-its ... seconds ... so I shall have to be jolly brisk, what?

тАФ This is a time capsule. I am told it only holds eight megawotsits of data, enough for a brief natter and a
G&T. IтАЩm sure your clankie tech chappies can figure it all out: something to do with the chronic entropy
barrier, IтАЩm told, otherwise weтАЩd be able to send you a couple of uploads and a God program to eat
your brains instead of this deeply tedious message in a bottle.

тАФ (Do I really sound like that? No, donтАЩt tell me, Miss Feng. Just pass the Port.)

тАФ I am Sir Ralph Takahashi, the MacGregor of Clan MacGregor, hereditary patron of Gelnochy
distillery, heir to the Takahashi trust in Yokohama, and governor-general of Batley. I come from a long
line of upper-class twits; blue blood has flowed in the old family veins for almost four centuries, that being
how long itтАЩs been since they bought their titles of nobility. That was back during the aftermath of the
Martian Hyperscabies epidemic of 2256 тАФ damned bad show that, but it did free up a lot of seats for
the likes of my ancestors. (The blue-blooded cyanoglobin hack appears to have been dear old Uncle
TojoтАЩs idea тАФ he thought it would help if we looked the part тАФ but he unaccountably overlooked the
small-print in the neurological warranty, for which may he jolly well itch in his coffin for ever.) But IтАЩm
rambling, arenтАЩt it? Forthwith, to the point! IтАЩm here to sell the prospect of life in the exciting
twenty-eighth century to you chappies, and I donтАЩt have much time left.



тАФ The twenty-eighth century (since when? Something to do with a middle-eastern death cult, wasnтАЩt it?
No, donтАЩt tell me ...) is a fine and exciting era and welcomes immigrants from all time zones. WeтАЩre trying
to develop the tech for a return temporal tourist trade as well, but IтАЩm told we wonтАЩt succeed for another
seventy-six years. If you come from one of those centuries and cultures where English was spoken, you
wonтАЩt have much trouble communicating with classicists and over-educated upper-class drones like me,
ha ha. And the Great Downsizing (I gather some of your more optimistic fellows used to look forward to
this event, calling it a Singularity), in conjunction with the discovery of the Spacetime Squirrelizer (which
allowed your less optimistic fellows to get away from the Great Downsizing тАФ which is why my side of
the family tree is descended exclusively from pessimists) has spread us pretty thin across the galaxy. This
means that there are plenty of good employment opportunities for squishy flesh-and-blood types, but