"Simon Hawke - Psychodrome" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

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-PROLOGUE-

I didn't know if I was in a war or if Psychodrome was playing
mind games. It works both ways. You play Psychodrome and
Psychodrome plays you. If this was a hallucinact, the only
way to tell would be when it was over. Assuming I survived. A
hallucinact is not supposed to kill you, but if your mind
believes your death is real, it might persuade your body. And
my body was getting some heavy doses of reality.
The combat armor I was wearing was supposed to be state-of-the-art
equipment, but it was state-of-the-art equipment
that had been contracted out to the lowest bidder, something
you don't really want to think about while under heavy fire. I
couldn't help thinking about it because the recirculating and
cooling system in my suit wasn't working properly. I was
sweating like a pig and having trouble breathing. It felt like
being locked in an ambulatory sauna bath. The home audience
was getting a graphic taste of what it felt like to be a human
tank, advancing through a bug-infested jungle that was bursting
into flame. Of course, if this particular tank took a direct

I
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SIMON HAWKE


hit from a plasma rocket, the "death" of the home audience
would only be a vicarious experience--appropriately edited--and
they could then switch channels and tune into another
fantasy. I, on the other hand, would either wake up screaming
or experience an incredibly brief instant of unutterable agony
before I turned into a smoking, gelatinous puddle on the
jungle floor. That's entertainment.

A war always got good ratings. There was a time when I