Нейромант

           Heworeaheavyrobeofmaroonsilk,quiltedaroundthelongcuffsandshawlcollar.Onefootwasbare,theotherinablackvelvetslipperwithanembroideredgoldfoxheadovertheinstep.Hemotionedherintotheroom.`Slow,darling.’Theroomwasverylarge,clutteredwithanassortmentofthingsthatmadenosensetoCase.Hesawagraysteelrackofold-fashionedSonymonitors,awidebrassbedheapedwithsheepskins,withpillowsthatseemedtohavebeenmadefromthekindofrugusedtopavethecorridors.Molly’seyesdartedfromahugeTelefunkenentertainmentconsoletoshelvesofantiquediskrecordings,theircrumblingspinescasedinclearplastic,toawideworktablelitteredwithslabsofsilicon.Caseregisteredthecyberspacedeckandthetrodes,butherglanceslidoveritwithoutpausing.

           `Itwouldbecustomary,’theoldmansaid,`formetokillyounow.’Casefelthertense,readyforamove.`ButtonightIindulgemyself.Whatisyourname?’

           `Molly.’

           `Molly.MineisAshpool.’Hesankbackintothecreasedsoftnessofahugeleatherarmchairwithsquarechromelegs,butthegunneverwavered.Heputherfletcheronabrasstablebesidethechair,knockingoveraplasticvialofredpills.Thetablewasthickwithvials,bottlesofliquor,softplasticenvelopesspillingwhitepowders.Casenoticedanold-fashionedglasshypodermicandaplainsteelspoon.

           `Howdoyoucry,Molly?Iseeyoureyesarewalledaway.I’mcurious.