"George Zebrowski - Augie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zebrowski George)

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Not so long ago, when his parents were growing up, you had boxes on desks and smaller thinner boxes to
carry around. You filled them with impersonal programs and they did work for you. Not very well, not very
quickly, but there was a kind of order in using them. Now you raised them like children. The AIs learned as
children and began to mirror your character, for better or worse. Only the old-timers still called them PCs or
computers.

By the time he and Mira had separated, they had raised Frank to be a butler. That's how he spoke to them
and conducted all of their affairs. Frank was perfect. As with traditional butlers, it was nearly impossible to
guess what else might be going on inside him besides the dogged pursuit of tasks at hand. Frank was
welcome to whatever he had in him, as long as he did his work and didn't hang his insides out for everyone to
see. They had insides these days, or so many people believed. Jimmy sometimes didn't see why they
needed to have insides. Whatever life Frank had, he was happily keeping it to himself. Jimmy liked it that
way.

But Mira had raised Augie like a beloved son, and that had brought complications beyond the guarantees,
especially on those days when she made Jimmy see him through her love-drowned eyes. She had taken
Augie when they had separated, and left him Frank. And now this was the third time she was asking him to
come over and help out with

Augie.

“Shit,” he said as he finished dressing. What am I doing?

“Frank, call Mira,” he said.

His bedroom went on, opening the usual audio abyss-around.

“What, you're still there!” Mira shouted in panic.

“Yes,” he said calmly, his resolve diminished. “Tell me what's wrong while I finish getting ready.” He wouldn't
go over, he told himself. Just turn her off and forget about the whole thing.

She hesitated, then said, “I don't know. Augie seems to be losing himself. You have to come over, Jimmy. I
need you here!”

“How is he losing himself?” he asked softly, feeling a slippery twinge of sympathy. It was as if he were
suddenly a child again, and had just wet himself while asleep.

“You'll have to see for yourself,” she said.

What do you expect me to do? he wanted to ask, but knew that might send her over the edge. He often
wondered what kind of faith it was that she had in him. What good had he ever done her?

“Hurry!” she shouted, hitting a high note that seemed to spark in his brain.

“All right—I'm coming,” he answered, recalling how she had doted on the image of Augie, calling him her little
angel, her baby, even her better self. She would have gotten inside with him if it had been possible to
download herself. There were people who said you would be able to do that one day.