"Shane Tourtellotte - Swap-Out" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tourtellotte Shane)

*Swap-Out*
by Shane Tourtellotte
When the world offers almost unlimited options, people may have to set their own
limits.
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Egan Brock sat down to work early, linking his office mainframe to the back of his
shaved head. His personal module was plugged into the center socket of his implant
suite, so he worked with the power of three brains. Well, two and a half: the natural item
didn't measure up, in his opinion.
Coworkers filed into the office, taking their fastidiously arranged places. Even with
telecommuting the modern norm, some people liked to see and interact with a traditionally
staffed office. This firm obliged, enticing volunteers from its workforce to occupy an office
designed to put forth the perfect impression to walk-in traffic.
Egan thought of it as easy bonus money, when he thought of it at all. Very few of
those people came to interact with him, fortunately, so almost nothing distracted him from
his work.
He had a fresh cache of designs from the firm's architects to test, and dove in. Every
blueprint submitted had to be tested on a range of vulnerabilities, from wind to flood to
earthquake to urban attack. Egan oversaw the process, and added some creative ideas
of his own when the main programs got a little too predictable.
"Gotcha." The thirty-story office building projected into his optic center was supposed
to be impervious to winds up to Category Two hurricane level, but that didn't factor in the
channeling effects of nearby edifices. The model swayed and bucked like that old Tacoma
Narrows flatfilm, until it collapsed from the puny force of a whole gale.
The spectacle was all numbers and images, but to Egan it was tactile, tickling nerve
endings deep inside his head. It wasn't pleasure as such. That was too wet-brained a
concept to comprehend the sensation. The buzz he got from sending back the model file
with an attachment of its demise was much more old-fashioned.
He plunged back into work. Lunch hour arrived, and Egan ignored the shufflings of his
coworkers, heading to the office pantry or out to diners. He worked until twenty before the
hour, when his module reminded him to eat. He unplugged the cable with a sigh, got his
bag lunch out of a drawer, and worked through it with vigor.
He was almost done when he noticed Kell approaching him. Kelly Borzas was in
Accounting, a couple of years younger than he was. Not bad-looking, but hopelessly timid
and shallow. The fact that she still had all her hair was proof positive.
"What can I do for you, Kell?" he rapped out.
She took a long second to answer. "You're the office expert on brain adjuncts, Egan. I
was wondering ... do you have any advice on my getting one of the new external models?"
Egan snickered. "I think it would suit you perfectly."
"Really?"
"Sure. You're the target market: a shrinking violet who's afraid of change, but not
quite blind enough not to see she's falling behind the visionaries. You gladly take what you
think is a baby step into modern times -- but Kell, you can't cruise into the future on
training wheels."
Kell took a step back. "I was hoping you'd be less dogmatic about this," she said, so
slowly to Egan's senses that it took an effort to pay attention. "I've been reading up on the
science, the short-range signal penetration and reception. It looked valid to me."
"Like Eskimo sex," Egan said. "Too many layers between the participants to get the
real effect. I'm telling you from experience: if it isn't connected to the brainstem -- " He
gave a gentle pat to the module hanging onto his head. " -- you aren't really cybered."