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

glinting under ersatz sunshine. There were spearheads, axes, burins and scrapers
-- plus other tools I couldn't identify offhand -- each item the product of at
least a hundred strokes, skillfully cleaving native rock into shapes useful for
daily life. A prehistoric kitchen, armory and machine shop, all in one. The
smiths offered to let me feel an edge. It was disturbing to watch the computer
manifest an image of my own hand, holding an object I couldn't feel. I resolved
to try again later, replaying the scenario with body gloves on.

"Well, it's been interesting," I said after a while, feeling fatigued. "But I
think that's enough for n --"

A high shout broke in. Everyone looked past my shoulder, but the scene remained
obstinately riveted until a new figure entered view from the left. Shorter,
slimmer than the others, this one strode with a springy, elfin gait, clothed in
the tunic and leggings of a hunter. The newcomer carried a bundle of slender
wooden saplings the right size for fashioning spears. Only when these were
dumped with a clatter did I note with surprise that this hunter was female.

"Ho, Chief," she greeted me, acknowledging Long Stick with a nod.

My companion leaned over and muttered, "This is Ankle-of-a-Giraffe, daughter of
Antler and Pear Blossom. She is one of the beaters in the hunt."

"That's what I want to talk to you about," the young stone-ager said, planting
fists on her hips. She was lithe and a trifle lean for my tastes -- as well as
being smudged from head to toe-- but she made eye contact in a bold, provocative
way. "I'm sick of just beating, Great Chief. I want to be in on the kill. I want
to learn from you two."

The stone-smiths hissed surprise. Long Stick rambled. "Ankle! You forget
yourself!"

The girl bowed submissively, yet her eyes held fierce determination. She seemed
ready to speak again when I shouted.

"Freeze frame!"

All action halted, leaving the "tribesmen" locked in time. A blue jay hovered in
suspended flight across the gully while I wrestled with confusion. It wasn't the
idea of a female hunter . . . plenty of tribes allowed it, according to
tradition. But why complicate matters with such a player right now, just as the
simulation seemed about to end? What did it have to do with prehistoric
tool-making?

"Computer. This isn't just a packaged you-are-there, is it?"

"No it is not. These are fully autonomous persona programs, operating
stochastically in your private sire world."

So, Gaia had been generous after all! Long Stick was no longer my only,