Нейромант
Chapter 8
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Caseturnedback,intimetocatchthebriefestflashofablackrose,itspetalssheenedlikeleather,theblackstemthornedwithbrightchrome.
PeterRivierasmiledsweetly,closedhiseyes,andfellinstantlyasleep.
Mollyturnedaway,herlensesreflectedinthedarkwindow.
`Youbeenup,haven’tyou?’Mollyasked,ashesquirmedhiswaybackintothedeeptemperfoamcouchontheJALshuttle.
`Nah.Nevertravelmuch,justforbiz.’Thestewardwasattachingreadouttrodestohiswristandleftear.
`Hopeyoudon’tgetSAS,’shesaid.
`Airsick?Noway.’
`It’snotthesame.Yourheartbeat’llspeedupinzero-g,andyourinnerear’llgonutsforawhile.Kicksinyourflightreflex,likeyou’llbegettingsignalstorunlikehell,andalotofadrenaline.’ThestewardmovedontoRiviera,takinganewsetoftrodesfromhisredplasticapron.
CaseturnedhisheadandtriedtomakeouttheoutlineoftheoldOrlyterminals,buttheshuttlepadwasscreenedbygracefulblast-deflectorsofwetconcrete.TheonenearestthewindowboreanArabicsloganinredspraybomb.
Heclosedhiseyesandtoldhimselftheshuttlewasonlyabigairplane,onethatflewveryhigh.Itsmelledlikeanairplane,likenewclothesandchewinggumandexhaustion.Helistenedtothepipedkotomusicandwaited.
