Neuromancer - Gibson William (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗

`Well, it's gettin'~ stickier,' the Flatline said. `Your boss wiped the bank on that other Hosaka, and damn near took ours with it. But your pal Wintermute put me on to somethin'~ there before it went black. The reason Straylight's not exactly hoppin'~ with Tessier-Ashpools is that they're mostly in cold sleep. There's a law firm in London keeps track of their powers of attorney. Has to know who's awake and exactly when. Armitage was routing the transmissions from London to Straylight through the Hosaka on the yacht. Incidently, they know the old man's dead.'

`Who knows?'

`The law firm and T-A. He had a medical remote planted in his sternum. Not that your girl's dart would've left a resurrection crew with much to work with. Shellfish toxin. But the only T-A awake in Straylight right now is Lady 3Jane Marie-France. There's a male, couple years older, in Australia on business. You ask me, I bet Wintermute found a way to cause that business to need this 8Jean's personal attention. But he's on his way home, or near as matters. The London lawyers give his Straylight ETA as 09:00:00, tonight. We slotted Kuang virus at 02:32:03. It's 04:45:20. Best estimate for Kuang penetration of the T-A core is 08:30:00. Or a hair on either side. I figure Wintermute's got somethin'~ goin'~ with this 3Jane, or else she's just as crazy as her old man was. But the boy up from Melbourne'll know the score. The Straylight security systems keep trying to go full alert, but Wintermute blocks 'em, don't ask me how. Couldn't override the basic gate program to get Molly in, though. Armitage had a record of all that on his Hosaka; Riviera must've talked 3Jane into doing it. She's been able to fiddle entrances and exits for years. Looks to me like one of T-A's main problems is that every family bigwig has riddled the banks with all kinds of private scams and exceptions. Kinda like your immune system falling apart on you. Ripe for virus. Looks good for us, once we're past that ice.'

`Okay. But Wintermute said that Arm --'

A white lozenge snapped into position, filled with a closeup of mad blue eyes. Case could only stare. Colonel Willie Corto, Special Forces, Strikeforce Screaming Fist, had found his way back. The image was dim, jerky, badly focused. Corto was using the Haniwa's navigation deck to link with the Hosaka in Marcus Garvey.

`Case, I need the damage reports on Omaha Thunder.'

`Say. I... Colonel?'

`Hang in there, boy. Remember your training.'

But where have you been, man?he silently asked the anguished eyes. Wintermute had built something called Armitage into a catatonic fortress named Corto. Had convinced Corto that Armitage was the real thing, and Armitage had walked, talked, schemed, bartered data for capital, fronted for Wintermute in that room in the Chiba Hilton... And now Armitage was gone, blown away by the winds of Corto's madness. But where had Corto been,those years?

Falling, burned and blinded, out of a Siberian sky.

`Case, this will be difficult for you to accept, I know that. You're an officer. The training. I understand. But, Case, as God is my witness, we have been betrayed.'

Tears started from the blue eyes.

`Colonel, ah, who? Who's betrayed us?'

`General Girling, Case. You may know him by a code name. You do know the man of whom I speak.'

`Yeah,' Case said, as the tears continued to flow, `I guess I do. Sir,' he added, on impulse. `But, sir, Colonel, what exactly should we do? Now, I mean.'

`Our duty at this point, Case, lies in flight. Escape. Evasion. We can make the Finnish border, nightfall tomorrow. Treetop flying on manual. Seat of the pants, boy. But that will only be the beginning.' The blue eyes slitted above tanned cheekbones slick with tears. `Only the beginning. Betrayal from above. From above...'He stepped back from the camera, dark stains on his torn twill shirt. Armitage's face had been masklike, impassive, but Corto's was the true schizoid mask, illness etched deep in involuntary muscle, distorting the expensive surgery.

`Colonel, I hear you, man. Listen, Colonel, okay? I want you to open the, ah... shit, what's it called, Dix?'

`The midbay lock,' the Flatline said.

`Open the midbay lock. Just tell your central console there to open it, right? We'll be up there with you fast, Colonel. Then we can talk about getting out of here.'

The lozenge vanished.

`Boy, I think you just lost me, there,' the Flatline said.

`The toxins,' Case said, `the fucking toxins,' and jacked out.

`Poison?' Maelcum watched over the scratched blue shoulder of his old Sanyo as Case struggled out of the g-web.

`And get this goddam thing off me...' Tugging at the Texas catheter. `Like a slow poison, and that asshole upstairs knows how to counter it, and now he's crazier than a shithouse rat.' He fumbled with the front of the red Sanyo, forgetting how to work the seals.

`Bossman, he poisonyou?' Maelcum scratched his cheek. `Got a medical kit, ya know.'

`Maelcum, Christ, help me with this goddam suit.'

The Zionite kicked off from the pink pilot module. `Easy, mon. Measure twice, cut once, wise man put it. We get up there...'

There was air in the corrugated gangway that led from Marcus Garvey's aft lock to the midbay lock of the yacht called Haniwa,but they kept their suits sealed. Maelcum executed the passage with balletic grace, only pausing to help Case, who'd gone into an awkward tumble as he'd stepped out of Garvey.The white plastic sides of the tube filtered the raw sunlight; there were no shadows.

Garvey's airlock hatch was patched and pitted, decorated with a laser-carved Lion of Zion. Haniwa's midbay hatch was creamy gray, blank and pristine. Maelcum inserted his gloved hand in a narrow recess. Case saw his fingers move. Red LEDs came to life in the recess, counting down from fifty. Maelcum withdrew his hand. Case, with one glove braced against the hatch, felt the vibration of the lock mechanism through his suit and bones. The round segment of gray hull began to withdraw into the side of Haniwa.Maelcum grabbed the recess with one hand and Case with the other. The lock took them with it.

Haniwawas a product of the Dornier-Fujitsu yards, her interior informed by a design philosophy similar to the one that had produced the Mercedes that had chauffeured them through Istanbul. The narrow midbay was walled in imitation ebony veneer and floored with gray Italian tiles. Case felt as though he were invading some rich man's private spa by way of the shower. The yacht, which had been assembled in orbit, had never been intended for re-entry. Her smooth, wasplike line was simply styling, and everything about her interior was calculated to add to the overall impression of speed.

When Maelcum removed his battered helmet, Case followed his lead. They hung there in the lock, breathing air that smelled faintly of pine. Under it, a disturbing edge of burning insulation.

Maelcum sniffed. `Trouble here, mon. Any boat, you smell that...'

A door, padded with dark gray ultrasuede, slid smoothly back into its housing. Maelcum kicked off the ebony wall and sailed neatly through the narrow opening, twisting his broad shoulders, at the last possible instant, for clearance. Case followed him clumsily, hand over hand, along a waist-high padded rail. `Bridge,' Maelcum said, pointing down a seamless, creamwalled corridor, `be there.' He launched himself with another effortless kick. From somewhere ahead, Case made out the familiar chatter of a printer turning out hard copy. It grew louder as he followed Maelcum through another doorway, into a swirling mass of tangled printout. Case snatched a length of twisted paper and glanced at it.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

`Systems crash?' The Zionite flicked a gloved finger at the column of zeros.