"Peter Watts - Flesh Made Word" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watts Peter)

"And what's left is still complex enough to teach you anything
about human behaviour?"
"Look at you."
"Just a fancy menu."
"Exactly. But you know more than the real Jason Mosby.
You're a better conversationalist, too; I met him once. I bet you'd
even score higher on a Turing test. Am I right?"
A barely perceptible pause. "I don't know. Possibly."
"As far as I can tell you're better than the original, and with only
a few percent of the processing power."
"Getting back to--"
"And if the original screams and fights when somebody tries to
turn him off," Wescott went on, "It's just because he's been
programmed to think he can suffer. He puts a bit more effort into
keeping his subroutines running. Maybe not much of a difference
after all, hmmm?"
The program fell silent. Wescott started counting: one one
thousand, two one thousand, three--
"That actually brings up another subject I wanted to ask you
about," the menu said.
Almost four seconds to respond, and even then it had had to
change the subject. It had limits. Good program, though.
"You haven't published anything on your work at VanGen,"
Mosby's proxy remarked. "I'm unable to access your NSERC
proposal, of course, but judging from the public abstract you've
been working on dead people."
"Not dead. Dying."
"Near-death experiences? Levitation, tunnel of light, that sort
of thing?"
7 Watts

"Symptoms of anoxia," Wescott said. "Mostly meaningless.
We go further."
"Why?"
"A few basic patterns are easier to record after other brain
functions have shut down."
"What patterns? What do they tell you?"
They tell me there's only one way to die, Mosby. It doesn't
matter what kills you, age or violence or disease, we all sing out
the same damn song before we cash in. You don't even have to be
human; as long as you've got a neocortex you're part of the club.
And you know what else, Mosby? We can almost read the lyric
sheet. Come by in person, say a month from now, and I could
preview your own last thoughts for you. I could give you the scoop
of the decade.
"Dr. Wescott?"
He blinked. "Sorry?"
"What patterns? What do they tell you?"
"What do you think?" Wescott said, and started counting again.
"I think you watch people die," the program answered, "and you