"Charles Stross - Singularity Sky" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

тАЬOther things.тАЭ It wasnтАЩt phrased as a question, but BuryaтАЩs raised eyebrow made his meaning clear.

тАЬThings falling from the skiesтАФand not the usual rain of frogs!тАЭ Oleg Timoshevski bounced up and
down excitedly, nearly upsetting one of the typecases that sat on the kitchen table beside him, part of the
unlicensed printing press that Rubenstein has established on peril of another decadeтАЩs internal exile.

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 Singularity Sky

тАЬThe thingsтАФlike a telephone, I think, at least they talk back when you ask them somethingтАФall say the
same thing; entertain us, educate us, we will give you anything you want in return! And they do! I saw a
bicycle fall from the skies with my own eyes! And all because Georgi Pavlovich said he wanted one, and
told the machine the story of Roland while he waited.тАЭ

тАЬI find this hard to believe. Perhaps we should put it to the test?тАЭ Burya grinned wolfishly, in a way that
reminded Marcus of the old days, when Burya had a fire in his belly, a revolver in his hand, and the ear
of ten thousand workers of the Rail-yard Engineering Union during the abortive October Uprising
twelve years earlier. тАЬCertainly if our mysterious benefactors are happy to trade bicycles for old stories,
I wonder what they might be willing to exchange for a general theory of postindustrial political
economy?тАЭ

тАЬBetter dine with the devil with a long, long spoon,тАЭ warned Marcus.

тАЬOh, never fear; all I want to do is ask some questions.тАЭ Rubenstein picked up the telephone and turned
it over in his hands, curiously. тАЬWhereтАЩs theтАФah. Here. Machine. Can you hear me?тАЭ

тАЬYes.тАЭ The voice was faint, oddly accentless, and slightly musical.

тАЬGood. Who are you, where are you from, and what do you want?тАЭ

тАЬWe are Festival.тАЭ The three dissidents leaned closer, almost bumping heads over the telephone. тАЬWe
have traveled many two-hundred-and-fifty-sixes of light-years, visiting many sixteens of inhabited
planets. We are seekers of information. We trade.тАЭ

тАЬYou trade?тАЭ Burya glanced up, a trifle disappointed; interstellar capitalist entrepreneurs were not what
he had been hoping for.

тАЬWe give you anything. You give us something. Anything we donтАЩt already know: art, mathematics,
comedy, literature, biography, religion, genes, designs. What do you want to give us?тАЭ

тАЬWhen you say you give us anything, what do you mean? Immortal youth? Freedom?тАЭ A faint note of
sarcasm hovered on his words, but Festival showed no sign of noticing.

тАЬAbstracts are difficult. Information exchange difficult, tooтАФlow bandwidth here, no access. But we can
make any structures you want, drop them from orbit. You want new house? Horseless carriage that flies
and swims as well? Clothing? We make.тАЭ

Timoshevski gaped. тАЬYou have a Cornucopia machine?тАЭ he demanded breathlessly. Burya bit his
tongue; an interruption it might be, but a perfectly understandable one.