"FWLS53" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

*

"Fuck who?" the kid asked, as my eyes returned to ordinary
optic mode.

"Never mind," I grumbled, shoving the computer back into the
overhead bin. "Just a stupid game."

"Can I play?" he asked. "I like games. I've got the best
rating at Fighter Jock on Prodigal."

"Sorry kid, this is a grown up game," I dismissed, looking
around for that packet of honey roasted nuts.

"Really? Cool! Does it have gore 'n sex and stuff?"

"No."

"Then why's it a grown up game?"

"You ask too many questions, kid," I said, reclining my seat
and basking in the momentary distraction of honey-roasted joy. She
really liked these things before she died, if I recall.

*

My dreams at night are always of her. Memory flashbacks
mostly, memories I make sure I keep locked up tight with bio-locks.
Stuff I don't want to forget, ever, no matter how old and grey I
get playing this stupid game.

Picnics, for example. We liked picnics. I hated the egg
salad, but she always made it. I didn't mind, hey, we were young
and foolish and able to cope with bad cooking. I remember when she
got her F in Home Economics, and I had to convince her it wasn't
that big of a deal. It wasn't, really... you didn't need to know
how to cook if you wanted to make computer programs. PEZ + Pizza
+ Programmer = Program, as Fredrick used to s... say.

FR, familiar sound. The five second hint. She wanted me to
call a Fr. Fredrick.

I woke up with a jolt, hitting my head on the luggage rack.
Twisting around in pain, I caught the little brat jacked into my
deck.

I growled, tapped the POWER switch, and the kid blinked. "Oh.
Umm. Hi, mister... just thought I'd take a look--"