"Sean Williams - Metak Fatigue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Sean)

protect their bodies. The rain was heavy and thick, failing in a warm sheet
from the dark
lky, a solid mass only slightly less dense than the nearby river. Their
clothing consisted of the standard casual _gniforms of the city's Regional
Security Department: grey synthetic fabric, recycled aluminium buttons and
thick greatcoats. Roads' genuine leather boots were a
rarity in Kennedy, and allowed him to walk through puddles with greater
comfort than Barney. "This way." He led her down a narrow flight of stairs
,between two buildings. Paint peelings from the crum-
bling brick walls littered the asphalt path. A left turn
took them to a steel door, which slid aside on smoothoiled runners as they
approached. The passageway on
Itthe other side was gloomily lit, but at least relatively clean and dry. . As
they passed through the entrance, Roads noted the tingling, skin-crawling
sensation of security scanners, electromagnetic fingers that reached through
their clothes to search for the telltale shapes of concealed weapons. Barney,
beside him, was far too young to remember the technology that had been
available, if not commonplace, before the War, and nervously rubbed the
suddenly erect hair of her forearms.
Roads didn't break his stride; the security-sweep was
just the first of many technological traps designed to
unsettle the unwary or the ignorant, and he didn't want
to stop each time to bring her up to date. Besides, she was canny enough. If
he looked like he knew what he was doing, she would follow his example.
He only hoped he did know. It had been so long since he had last come this way
...
The door at the far end of the corridor remained closed. A panel slid aside in
the wall to the right of the door and a gender-neutral voice spoke: "Please
disarm. Your weapons will be returned to you when you leave."
"Phil?" Barney's voice betrayed her nervousness. "It's okay." He opened his
coat and removed his belt. The pistol - loaded with plastic bullets, lead
being another rarity - and its holster vanished behind the panel; hers
followed after a slight hesitation.
The door slid open. They stepped through into a muffled riot of noise.
Somewhere nearby, removed by only a wall or two, a very large, very noisy
party was taking place. Roads smelled smoke and liquor in large quantities,
and a general miasma of damp flesh.
Two large bouncers awaited them behind a low counter. "Names?" asked one
without looking up from a neon-bright video screen. His left eye was covered
with what looked like a simple leather patch. Roads didn't doubt that it hid
more than an empty socket. "Phil Roads." He pressed palm to scanner and waited
for. confirmation. "I still have access here, I believe." "That is correct,
sir," said the bouncer, his manner formal once the ID was approved. He waved
Barney forward, and she likewise subjected her handprint to the machine's
scrutiny. -
It beeped a negative: as far as its files were concerned, she did not exist.
That wasn't necessarily a problem; at least she wasn't a known threat. "Ms
Daniels is my guest," explained Roads. "We're here to see the Head. He's
expecting us." "I'll notify him of your presence." The bouncer listened to an
earplug's whisper for a moment, then said: "He'll meet you shortly. This way."