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

"Oh, shut up." Elin took out her briefcase and called Father Landis. "I'm bored," she said, when the
hologram had stablized.



Landis hardly glanced up from her work. "So get a job," she snapped.



Magritte had begun as a mining colony, back when it was still profitable to process the undifferentiated
melange soil. The miners were gone now, and the crater was owned by a consortium of operations
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




legally debarred from locating Earthside.



From the fifteenth terrace Elin stared down at the patch-work clusters of open-air laboratories and
offices, some sepa-rated by long stretches of undeveloped field, others crammed together in the hope of
synergistic effect. Germ-warfare corpo-rations mingled with nuclear-waste engineering firms. The
Mid-Asian Population Control Project had half a terrace to itself, and it swarmed with guards. There
were a few off-Swiss banking operations.



"You realize," Tory said, "that I'm not going to be at all happy about this development." He stood, face
impassive in red and green, watching a rigger bolt together a cot and wire in the surgical equipment.



"You hired me yourself," Elin reminded him.



"Yes, but I'm wired into professional mode at the mo-ment." The rigger packed up his tools, walked off.
"Looks like wevre almost ready."



"Good." Elin flung herself down on the cot and lay back, hands folded across her chest. "Hey, I feel like
I should be holding a lily!"



"I'm going to hook you into the project intercom so you don't get too bored between episodes." The air
about her flickered, and a clutch of images overlaid her vision. Ghosts walked through the air, stared at