"Rudy Rucker & Bruce Sterling - Hormiga Canyon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

lead to golf-ball-sized personal suns!”

“Yeah, bro, it’s all about the universal Celtic weave,” said Jayson. He
brandished the chain-mail of his hand-made wristlets, beautifully patterned,
with loops in four or five different sizes. Then his indulgent smile faded; he
twisted his head uneasily. “Do you, um, just hear a helicopter over the
valley? Let’s hide my bike in your garage. Just in case Lester really did file
a report. Those ghetto-birds are hell on stolen vehicles.”

“Why don’t you just pay the man?” asked Stefan as they wheeled the
fine old machine into his tiny, cluttered garage. “This is a beautiful bike.
Heavily macho.”

Jayson grunted. “Thing is, I spent my Square Root of Not money on
primo collectibles. Sci-fi costumes that I picked right off the studio set.
They’re in my trailer, locked up in Lupe’s damn garage. But really, that’s
okay, because all I need to do is flip those costumes for a profit on my
website. Then I can make good on Lupe’s rent, and get at the costumes,
and also pay off the motorcycle. See, it goes round and round. Loop-like.”
Another cloud crossed Jayson’s face. “My website’s still okay, right? Inside
your big computer?”

“Your site is down. Like I’ve been telling you—the ants ate a crucial
part of my system. Your website still exists.” Stefan waved his hands. “It’s
distributed across the memory chips of ten thousand cell phones. In terms
of customer service, though, your website’s a lost world.”

“I hate computers.”

“They love you.”

“I hate ants.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” said Stefan. “Let’s go get ‘em, big guy.”
He led his friend inside.
 They knelt and peered inside the TV, using the flexible light-wand.

“Hey, I’ve seen lots worse,” grunted Jayson in typical L.A. style. “Your
ants are practically too small to see!”

“They come in all sizes, man. I saw one as big as, I dunno, as big as
a miniature dachshund.”

“Get a grip,” advised Jayson, and the irony of this insult, coming from
him, cheered Stefan no end. Yes, he was having a bad ants-in-your-hair
day, but compared to Jayson, he was the picture of bourgeois
respectability. He had money in the bank, a roof, and a bed. For all his
swagger, Jayson was practically living in a dumpster. But—Jayson didn’t
even care. Jayson wasn’t daunted, not a bit. Stefan could learn from him.