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

thought I'd drop by and get acquainted with my former patient." He glanced down at the ground,
fleetingly shy, and then his eyes were bright and audacious again.



How charming, Elin thought. She hoped that he wasn't too shy. And then she had to glance away herself,
the thought was so unlike her. "So you're a wetware surgeon," she said inanely.



Hans reappeared to distribute mugs of wine, then retreated to the cave's mouth. He sat down,
workboard in lap, and patched in the skull-plugs. His face went stiff as the wetware took hold.



"Actually," Tory said, "I very rarely work as a wetsurgeon. An accident like yours is rare, you
know-maybe once, twice a year. Mostly I work in wetware development. Currently I'm on the Star
Maker project.''



"I've heard that name before. Just what is it anyway?"



Tory didn't answer immediately. He stared down into the lake, a cool breeze from above ruffling his
curls. Elin caught her breath. / hardly know this man, she thought wildly. He pointed to the island in the
center of the lake, a thin, stony finger that was originally the crater's thrust cone.
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"God lives on that island," he said.



Elin laughed. "Think how different history would be if He'd only had a sense of direction!" She wanted to
bite her tongue when she realized that he was not joking.



"You're being cute, Shostokovich," Landis warned. She swigged down a mouthful of wine. "Jeez, that's
vile stuff."



Tory rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "Mea culpa. Well, let me give you a little background. Most
people think of wetware as being software for people. But that's too simplistic, because with machines
you start out blank-with a clean slate-and with people, there's some ten million years of mental