Нейромант

           Shestalkedtheroom,Ashpool’sautomaticinherhand.

           Avastquiltorcomforterwasheapedbesidethebed,inabroadpuddleofcongealedblood,thickandshinyonthepatternedrugs.Twitchingacornerofthequiltback,shefoundthebodyofagirl,whiteshoulderbladesslickwithblood.Herthroathadbeenslit.Thetriangularbladeofsomesortofscraperglintedinthedarkpoolbesideher.Mollyknelt,carefultoavoidtheblood,andturnedthedeadgirl’sfacetothelight.ThefaceCasehadseenintherestaurant.

           Therewasaclick,deepattheverycenterofthings,andtheworldwasfrozen.Molly’ssimstimbroadcasthadbecomeastillframe,herfingersonthegirl’scheek.Thefreezeheldforthreeseconds,andthenthedeadfacewasaltered,becamethefaceofLindaLee.

           Anotherclick,andtheroomblurred.Mollywasstanding,lookingdownatagoldenlaserdiskbesideasmallconsoleonthemarbletopofabedsidetable.Alengthoffiberopticribbonranlikealeashfromtheconsoletoasocketatthebaseoftheslenderneck.

           `Igotyournumber,fucker,’Casesaid,feelinghisownlipsmoving,somewhere,faraway.HeknewthatWintermutehadalteredthebroadcast.Mollyhadn’tseenthedeadgirl’sfaceswirllikesmoke,totakeontheoutlineofLinda’sdeathmask.

           Mollyturned.ShecrossedtheroomtoAshpool’schair.Theman’sbreathingwasslowandragged.Shepeeredatthelitterofdrugsandalcohol