Нейромант
Chapter 17
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`Smelllikehewipe’emwi’laser,yaknow?’TheZionitebracedhisfootagainstthewhitecageofaSwissexercisemachineandshotthroughthefloatingmazeofpaper,battingitawayfromhisface.
`Case,mon...’
Themanwassmall,Japanese,histhroatboundtothebackofthenarrowarticulatedchairwithalengthofsomesortoffinesteelwire.Thewirewasinvisible,whereitcrossedtheblacktemperfoamoftheheadrest,andithadcutasdeeplyintohislarynx.Asinglesphereofdarkbloodhadcongealedtherelikesomestrangepreciousstone,ared-blackpearl.Casesawthecrudewoodenhandlesthatdriftedateitherendofthegarrotte,likewornsectionsofbroomhandle.
`Wonderhowlonghehadthatonhim?’Casesaid,rememberingCorto’spostwarpilgrimage.
`Heknowhowpilotboat,Case,bossman?’
`Maybe.HewasSpecialForces.’
`Well,thisJapan-boy,henotbepilotin’.DoubtIpilothereasymyself.Ver’newboat...’
`Sofindusthebridge.’
Maelcumfrowned,rolledbackward,andkicked.
Casefollowedhimintoalargerspace,akindoflounge,shreddingandcrumplingthelengthsofprintoutthatsnaredhiminhispassage.Thereweremoreofthearticulatedchairs,here,somethingthatresembledabar,andtheHosaka.Theprinter,stillspewingitsflimsytongueofpaper,wasanin-builtbulkheadunit,aneatslotinapanelofhandrubbedveneer.
