Нейромант

           `Yeah?’

           Ittickeditswayaroundthedoor.Hefollowedit.

           ThemonitorinthelibrarywasanotherSony,asoldasthefirstone.TheBraunpausedbeneathitandexecutedasortofjig.

           `Wintermute?’

           Thefamiliarfeaturesfilledthescreen.TheFinnsmiled.

           `Timetocheckin,Case,’theFinnsaid,hiseyesscrewedupagainstthesmokeofacigarette.`C’mon,jack.’

           TheBraunthrewitselfagainsthisankleandbegantoclimbhisleg,itsmanipulatorspinchinghisfleshthroughthethinblackcloth.`Shit!’Heslappeditasideanditstruckthewall.Twoofitslimbsbegantopistonrepeatedly,uselessly,pumpingtheair.`What’swrongwiththegoddamthing?’

           `Burnedout,’theFinnsaid.`Forgetit.Noproblem.Jackinnow.’

           Therewerefoursocketsbeneaththescreen,butonlyonewouldaccepttheHitachiadaptor.

           Hejackedin.

           Nothing.Grayvoid.

           Nomatrix,nogrid.Nocyberspace.

           Thedeckwasgone.Hisfingerswere...

           Andonthefarrimofconsciousness,ascurrying,afleetingimpressionofsomethingrushingtowardhim,acrossleaguesofblackmirror.

           Hetriedtoscream.

           Thereseemedtobeacity,beyondthecurveofbeach,butitwasfaraway.

           Hecrouchedonhishaunchesonthedampsand,hisarmswrappedtightacrosshisknees,andshook.