Нейромант

           `Female,’hesaidautomatically.

           `Numberthirty-five.Phoneifitisn’tsatisfactory.Youcanaccessourspecialservicesdisplaybeforehand,ifyoulike.’Shesmiled.Shereturnedhischip.

           Anelevatorslidopenbehindher.

           Thecorridorlightswereblue.Casesteppedoutoftheelevatorandchoseadirectionatrandom.Numbereddoors.Ahushlikethehallsofanexpensiveclinic.

           Hefoundhiscubicle.He’dbeenlookingforMolly’s,now,confused,heraisedhischipandplaceditagainstablacksensorsetdirectlybeneaththenumberplate.

           Magneticlocks.ThesoundremindedhimofCheapHotel.

           ThegirlsatupinbedandsaidsomethinginGerman.Hereyesweresoftandunblinking.Automaticpilot.Aneuralcutout.Hebackedoutofthecubicleandclosedthedoor.

           Thedoorofforty-threewaslikealltheothers.Hehesitated.Thesilenceofthehallwaysaidthatthecubiclesweresoundproof.Itwaspointlesstotrythechip.Herappedhisknucklesagainstenameledmetal.Nothing.Thedoorseemedtoabsorbthesound.

           Heplacedhischipagainsttheblackplate.

           Theboltsclicked.

           Sheseemedtohithim,somehow,beforehe’dactuallygottenthedooropen.Hewasonhisknees,thesteeldooragainsthisback,thebladesofherrigidthumbsquiveringcentimetersfromhiseyes...