"Brin, David - Natulife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

Sliding the plaq into the console, I accidentally brushed the volume knob and
the booming voice of the priestess returned.

" . . . must face the fact that Earth's billions won't accept returning to
nature by scratching mud and sleeping on dirt floors. We must learn new ways,
both more natural and smarter . . . . "

I snickered at that. Funny how each generation thinks it knows what "smarter"
means.

LONG STICK greeted me with a sweeping bow, at once both sardonic and respectful.
"Welcome back, oh Great Chief."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered at my simulated sidekick. "Okay, I'll bite. What's
different, this time?"

Everything seemed less real here in the living room, with my virtuality helmet
and body suit left hanging in the closet. The familiar, primeval forest of my
private world now cut off sharply where the vial-wall met the couch. Yet, I
could have sworn my ersatz companion seemed subtler, warmer, somehow.

"The flint-smiths are ready to show their wares, chief."

"The who . . . ?" I began. But Long Stick simply turned to begin striding down a
nearby path. The living room had no treadmill-floor, so I stood still, watching
Long Stick's buckskin-draped form plow past trees and boulders and down a series
of switchbacks. A rhythmic sound grew steadily louder--a tinny clatter of
brittle objects colliding and breaking. Finally, we reached a sandy streambed
where several figures could be seen sitting on logs, hammering stones together.

Oh, yes. Flint-smiths. NatuLife stocked countless "You-Are-There" programs in
all the ancient arts, from bronze casting to automobile design. With our shared
interest in the Neolithic, Gala had cleverly bought a stone age simulation the
computer could fit right into my private world, to help me pass an evening while
she trained for motherhood.

Okay, I sighed. Let's get on with it.

A youngster with a wispy beard noticed us, stopped hammering, and nudged the
others -- a weathered old man and a sturdy-looking fellow with one leg much
shorter than the other. The smiths rose and bowed respectfully. Naturally, these
wouldn't be full scale sim-personas, like Long Stick, but animated actors in a
limited scenario.

"We have worked those chert cores you traded from Seacliff Tribe, oh Chief," the
oldest one said, lisping through gaps in his teeth. "Would you like tO see?"

I shrugged. "Why not?"

He spread a fur and began laying out an assortment of neolithic cutlery,