"Jerry Davis - The Code of the Beast" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

Dodd was groggy and ill tempered when he left his apartment
for work the next morning. When the house computer woke him at
5:30 AM the television in the front room was still going, the
24-hour Travels channel continuing its coverage of the rolling
ball with no interruptions or commercial breaks. Sheila was asleep
so there was no argument from her when he turned the TV off, but
by the time he had showered, shaved, dressed and eaten breakfast
she was awake again and the Travels channel was back on the
screen.
The anarchists in his garage were already gone, but he found
a note of thanks spray-painted on one of the walls. "BEWARE THE
ANTICHRIST AI" it read, luminous red words outlined in black. They
had dug through his boxes of junk and taken a few cooking
utensils. This made Dodd mad, not because he had cherished the old
stained utensils --- far from it, they were junk --- but it was
the way they had just taken it, they hadn't even thought about
asking. And the spray paint! He was going to have to paint the
whole wall to cover it, and he'd have to do it soon, too --- the
apartment management was seldom understanding in this sort of
thing. Dodd was sure that somewhere in his lease agreement was the
clause "Letting anarchists sleep in your garage unit is terms for
expulsion."
Dodd joined the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, walking
the six blocks down the street toward the subway terminal. Beware
the antichrist AI. What in the hell was that supposed to mean?
Either Danny Marauder had finally gone over the edge, or it was
something the anarchists were into. There was no way of telling
--- the anarchists seemed to be into everything. Like Dodd, many
of them were veterans. That's where he met Danny --- they had
served together in the South American War. Carrying guns powerful
enough to blow up a jeep with a single round, never firing a shot,
wading through cities of dead people whom wouldn't decay. It was
graveyard duty. Dodd had been able to maintain his grasp on
reality; he returned home to lead a normal life. But the others,
the ones that ended up anarchists, they had lost their grip.



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His train hissed to a halt and Dodd boarded, packing himself
in with a hundred other bodies, standing because all the seats
were taken. The ride was uneventful, he endured it as usual by
escaping into a trance-like state until an amplified voice
announced his stop. "Cherokee. Cherokee Station." Dodd made his
way to the door and waited for the train to stop. Beyond the
yellowed windows of the subway car, the brick walls of the station
blurred past and slowed, graffiti everywhere, layer upon layer.
BEWARE THE ANTICHRIST AI!