"Michael Swanwick - Trojan Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

"I think I've exhausted all the resources of self-discovery available to me," she told the Pierrot when he
came to collect his tip. "And I've still got half the morning left to kill."



He glanced at her powder-blue facepaint and smiled politely.
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"It's selective black."



"Huh?" Elin turned away from the lake, found that an agtech carrying a long-handled net had come up
behind her.



"The algae-it absorbs light into the infrared. Makes the lake a great thermal sink." The woman dipped
her net into the water, seined up a netful of dark-green scum, and dumped it into a nearby trough. Water
drained away through the porous bottom.



"Oh." There were a few patches of weeds on the island, where drifting soil had settled. "It's funny. I
never used to be very touristy. More the contemplative type, sort of homebodyish. Now I've got to be
doing something, you know?"



The agtech dumped another load of algae into the trough. "I couldn't say." She tapped her forehead. "It's
the wetware. If you want to talk shop, that's fine. Otherwise, I can't."



"I see." Elin dabbed a toe in the warm water. "Well, why not? Let's talk shop."



Someone was moving at the far edge of the island. Elin craned her neck to see. The agtech went on
methodically dipping her net into the lake as God walked into view.



"The lake tempers the climate, see? By day it works by evaporative cooling. Absorbs the heat, loses it
to evaporation, radiates it out the dome roof through the condensers."