"Lawrence Watt-Evans - War Surplus 01 - The Cyborg And The Sorcerers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

he knew in an abstract way that he had grown up in North America, mostly in the northeastern area. He
remembered streets, schools, parks, and a few years of college—but no names, no individual faces, no
family life.

Trying to remember his name was an interesting diversion; enough of a block lingered to ensure that he
never retained it for more than a few minutes. Once, several years earlier, he had developed an irrational
fear that he might forget it permanently. This had been shortly after he had first managed to recall it at all,
and he had had some idea that it might someday matter to know it. He had written it down somewhere,
and had not looked at it since; it was comforting, in a minor way, to know that it was safely recorded. It
kept the game of trying to remember it from becoming too frustrating; he could always reassure himself,
when the name was reluctant to come forth, that he could dig out the note he had stuck in one of his
books and read it. Knowing that made frustration bearable, and sooner or later the name would always
come to him; he had never yet had to try and find the note, the exact location of which he had long since
forgotten.

Having remembered his old name, he lost interest in it, and as his attention turned to other things he
promptly forgot it again, as swiftly as ever.

He looked at the glass-fronted bookcase he had bolted to the forward bulkhead, which looked
incredibly out of place in the sleek control cabin. It was jammed full of old bound books, mostly
paperback novels and art histories, many of which held notes he had written to himself—one such note
consisting simply of his name, whatever it was. He had spent his entire enlistment bonus on furnishing the
ship, and most of the money had gone for the archaic cabinet and old-fashioned printed volumes. He
derived a certain special enjoyment from handling the books that a computer library printout didn't
provide; the action of turning the pages gave him a feeling of progress that the steady crawl of words on a
screen or a calm recitation by the computer didn't, a feeling that he had accomplished something when he
finished reading the book. He also found it easier to flip back pages by hand when he wanted to check
back for something than to locate it in the computer.

And of course the art books had those lovely old flat, glossy photographs, far more appealing than any
images the computer could conjure up. His computer had been designed for military use; it could pilot a
ship, plan tactics, target and fire its weapons, analyze enemy ships or installations—but the fidelity in its
video and holographies left something to be desired, except when he used the direct-control linkage,
which he found uncomfortable and used as little as possible.

Therefore, despite the jokes his compatriots had made about his reading habits, he had stocked the
bookcase and brought it along, and there it was. He bad read every book in it at least twice, studied
every photograph over and over. He had similarly exhausted the computer's library, both text and
video—at least, he thought he had; it was hard to be certain. He had definitely gone through every title
that sounded the least bit interesting. There was little else to do while the computer was piloting.

It occurred to him that he had spent all his time lately in the control cabin or the galley or the shower;
perhaps he could find something to interest him in one of the other compartments. Perhaps it was time to
rotate the decor in the control cabin.

He looked around the ovoid room. The thick chameleon fur carpeting that lined all the walls—and the
floor and ceiling, which were indistinguishable from the walls—was a rich golden yellow, and had been
for weeks. Three bright nylon tapestries were hooked into the carpet, one on either side and one directly
opposite the bookcase; cylindrical lightbars were extruded from various points around the room,
providing a pleasantly diffuse illumination. Fur carpet, bookcase, tapestries, lightbars—that was the entire