"Thomas A. Easton - Silicon Karma" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

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SILICON KARMA
by
Tom Easton

For Betty Sue

My thanks to David Hartwell, Don Maass, Rebecca Ore, Mike Resnick, and
Stewart Wieck. Those defects of the tale that have survived their
helpful efforts are my fault alone.

An earlier version of this novel was published on disk in April 1995 by
Serendipity Systems P. O. Box 140 San Simeon, CA 93452

PROLOGUE: RUMORS OF HAZARD

The last thing Albert Pillock remembered was sitting in the crapper
behind the Mandelbrot Tap's tiny kitchen and thinking that it was about
time he B-cupped. That thought had been enough to materialize the
utility popup he needed. It looked like a small woman whose gray hair
was covered by a green kerchief. A coverall of the same color was
embroidered with the logo of Iron Lady B-Cup Security. It was sitting on
the edge of the sink, snapping gum, swinging its feet, tossing in one
hand a vial of large purple pills, and saying, "You'd think people would
remember to back up their memories in the kitchen or the living room,
but no, no. I've got to work in the toilet!" After a brief pause to give
him a chance to smile, it held up the pills and added, "You wanta do it
cold? Or do you want one of these horse chokers?"

He remembered shuddering. That was why he didn't B-cup as often he
should. That was why no one did. It took time, it produced a thundering
headache, and the pills that prevented the headache tasted like a
combination of bad breath and ear wax. He didn't know why, though he
could guess at a programmer with a sick sense of humor. He did know the
headache wasn't necessary, for the few times the power had failed and
the system's automatic B-cup had kicked in, there had been none. At
least the Albert Pillock who had experienced the headache hadn't
survived to remember it. Just as he didn't remember now. Not that
suicide seemed all that rational a way to avoid a headache, but it would
work. Now his hands were tight on the arms of a padded black leather
chair. He was facing a broad desk, and across that the heart-shaped face
and silvery hair of his host computer's persona. She was wearing a
sweatshirt decorated with an offcenter, multi-colored bullseye and the
words "Strange Attraction."

He had to swallow before he could manage to say, "What happened, Ada?"

"You got killed."