Нейромант

           ’

           `We’llwait,yeah.’Hescratchedhisbarechest.`Thatlastpartoftheaddress,Ithinkthat’sacubicle.Numberfortythree.’

           `Youexpected,Lupus?’CathcranedforwardoverBruce’sshoulderandpeeredup.Thedrivehaddriedherhair.

           `Notreally,’Casesaid.`That’saproblem?’

           `Justgodowntothelowestlevelandfindyourfriend’scubicle.Iftheyletyouin,fine.Iftheydon’twannaseeyou...’Sheshrugged.

           Caseturnedanddescendedaspiralstaircaseoffloraliron.Sixturnsandhe’dreachedanightclub.HepausedandlitaYeheyuanlookingoverthetables.Freesidesuddenlymadesensetohim.Biz.Hecouldfeelithummingintheair.Thiswasit,thelocalaction.Notthehigh-glossfacadeoftheRueJulesVerne,buttherealthing.Commerce.Thedance.Thecrowdwasmixed;maybehalfweretourists,theotherhalfresidentsoftheislands.

           `Downstairs,’hesaidtoapassingwaiter,`Iwanttogodownstairs.’HeshowedhisFreesidechip.Themangesturedtowardtherearoftheclub.

           Hewalkedquicklypastthecrowdedtables,hearingfragmentsofhalfadozenEuropeanlanguagesashepassed.

           `Iwantacubicle,’hesaidtothegirlwhosatatthelowdesk,aterminalonherlap.`Lowerlevel.’Hehandedherhischip.

           `Genderpreference?’Shepassedthechipacrossaglassplateonthefaceoftheterminal.