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

Nothing was any different. Magritte was as ordinary, as mundane as ever, and she felt no special
reaction to it one way or another. Certainly she did not feel the presence of God.



"I don't think this is working," she tried to say. The words did not come. From the corner of her eye, she
saw Tory wiping clean his facepaint, shucking off his jumpsuit. But when she tried to sit up, she found she
was paralyzed.



What is this maniac doing?



Tory's face loomed over her, his eyes glassy, almost fear-ful. His hair was a tangled mess; her fingers
itched with the impulse to run a comb through it.



"Forgive me, love." He kissed her forehead lightly, her lips ever so gently. Then he was out of her field of
vision, stretching out on the grass beside the cot.



Elin stared up at the dome roof, thinking: No. She heard him strap the bone inductors to his body, one
by one, and then a sharp click as he switched on a recorder. The program-ming began to flow into him.



A long wait-perhaps, twenty seconds viewed objectively- as the wetware was loaded. Another click as
the recorder shut off. A moment of silence, and then-
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




Tory gasped. One arm flew up into her field of vision, swooped down out of it, and he began choking.
Elin strug-gled against her paralysis, could not move. Something broke noisily, a piece of equipment by
the sound of it, and the choking and gasping continued. He began thrashing wildly.



Tory, Tory, what's happening to you?



"It's just a grand mal seizure," Landis said. "Nothing we can't cope with, nothing we weren't prepared