Bruce Sterling - Islands in the Net
Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Bruce Sterling - Islands in the Net» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Жанр: Фантастика и фэнтези, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.
- Название:Islands in the Net
- Автор:
- Жанр:
- Год:неизвестен
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
-
Избранное:Добавить в избранное
- Отзывы:
-
Ваша оценка:
- 100
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
Islands in the Net: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «Islands in the Net»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.
Islands in the Net — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком
Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «Islands in the Net», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.
Интервал:
Закладка:
Ocean. As for the Blue Crew, they had missed their chance at action and were bitterly sulking.
She wondered what they were trying to escape from. The missiles-"Exocets," they called them-had flown for miles before hitting. They could have been launched from almost any large surface ship in the straits, or even from Sumatra.
No one had seen the sub.
And how would anyone suspect' its existence? A submarine was a monster from a lost era. It was useless, designed only for killing-there was no such thing as a "cargo sub" or a
"Coast Guard sub" or a "search-and-rescue sub."
Sure, there were little deep-sea research vessels, bathy- scaphes or whatever the word was- just like there were still a few manned spacecraft, both equally obscure and quaint and funny-looking. But this thing was huge. And the truth, or a dread strong enough to pass for one, was beginning to seep in.
It reminded her of something she'd heard when she was eleven or so. One of those horror folk tales that kids told each other. About the boy who accidentally swallowed a needle... . Only to have it show up, years or decades later, rusty but still whole, in his ankle or kneecap or elbow ... si-, lent steel entity sliding unknown and unknowable through his, living breathing body ... while he grew up and married and held down some unremarkable service job... till he goes to the doctor one day and says: Doc, I'm getting old, may be rheumatism but I have this strange stabbing pain in my leg... . Well, says kindly Doc, put 'er here under the scanner and we'll have a look...y word, Mr. World-Everyman, you seem to have a vicious septic needle hiding under your kneecap.... Oh yeah, gosh Doc, I kinda forgot about it but as a young boy I used to play with needles habitually, in fact most of my allowance went toward buying extremely sharp and deadly needles which I scattered lavishly in every direc- tion, but when I grew up and got a little wiser I was sure that
I'd picked up every last one... .
"You okay?" Hesseltine said.
"Excuse me?" Laura said.
"We're talking about you, Laura. About whether to put you straight in a tank, or let. you hang out a while."
"I don't understand," she said numbly. "You have tanks?
I thought you were navy people."
The officers laughed, false yo-ho-ho club-room laughter.
The Russian-looking one said something about how the world's women hadn't gotten any smarter. Hesseltine smiled at her as if it were the first thing she'd done right.
"Hell," he said, "we'll show 'em to you. That all right, Baptiste?"
"Why not?"
Hesseltine shook hands all around and made a studied exit.
He and Baptiste and Laura emerged into a dining hall where thirty neatly groomed Red Crewmen were eating, jammed elbow to elbow around collapsible tables. As Hesseltine en- tered, they set down their forks with a clatter and applauded politely.
Hesseltine offered her his elbow. Frightened by their flat, fishlike eyes,, she took his arm. He paraded her down the narrow aisle between rows of tables. The men were all close enough to grab at her, to wink or grin or hoot, but none of them did, or even looked like they wanted to. It smelled of them: their soap and shampoo, their beef stroganoff and green beans. In the corner a wide-screen TV was showing an illegal kick-boxing match, two wiry Thais silently beating each other bloody.
They were out. Laura shivered helplessly and let go of his arm, her skin crawling. "What's wrong with them?" she hissed at him. "They're so quiet and numb...."
"What's wrong with you?" he riposted. "A long face like that ... you're making everyone nervous."
They took her back to the first room she'd seen, with the elevators. They emerged on the upper deck of grating. Below them, Yellow Crewmen were at work on the drones, examin- ing stripped-down bits of machinery on cramped little blankets of tarpaulin.
Baptiste and Hesseltine stopped by one of the elaborately painted silos. The crude stars and whizzing comets ... she saw that it had a black silhouette, the nude outline of a stylized buxom babe. Long leg kicked out, hair flung back, a stripper's pose. And lettering: TANYA. "What's this?" Laura said.
"That's the tank's name," Baptiste said. A little apologetic, like a gentleman forced to bring up an off-color sub- ject. "The men did it ... high spirits... you know how it is."
High spirits. She couldn't imagine anything less likely from the men she'd seen aboard. "What is this thing?"
Hesseltine spoke up. "Well, one climbs inside there, of course, and... " He paused. "You're not lesbian, are you?"
"What? No ... "
"Too bad, I guess.... If you're not gay, the special features aren't going to do much for you... . But even without the simulations, they says it's very relaxing."
Laura backed a step away. "Are... are they all like this?"
"No," said Baptiste. "Some are drone ports, and the others launch warheads. But five of them are our recreation tanks-'Hollywood baths,' the men call them."
"And you want me to go inside there?"
"If you like," said Baptiste reluctantly. "We won't activate the machinery-nothing will touch you-you simply float within it, breathing, dreaming, in nice heated seawater."
"Keep you out of trouble a few days," Hesseltine said.
"Days?"
"They're very advanced and well designed," Baptiste said, annoyed. "This isn't something we invented, you know."
"A few days is nothing!" Hesseltine said. "Now if they leave you in a few weeks, you might start seeing your Optimal
Persona and all kinds of twisted shit.... But in the meantime you're perfectly safe and happy. And we know where you are. Sound good?"
Laura shook her head, minutely. "If you could just find me a bunk ... a little corner somewhere.... I really don't mind."
"Not much privacy," Baptiste warned. "Crowded conditions."
He seemed relieved, though. Glad that she wouldn't be taking up valuable tank room.
Hesseltine frowned. "Well, I don't want to hear you bitching later."
"No, no. "
Hesseltine looked restless. He glanced at his waterproof watchphone. "I really need to uplink with HQ and debrief."
"Please go ahead," Laura said. "You've done more than enough. I'm sure I'll be fine, really."
"Wow," said Hesseltine. "That almost sounds like a thank you."
They found room for her in a laundry space. It was a chill, steamy warren, stinking of detergent and crammed with sharp- edged machinery. A bare little single bunk slid out over chromed storage rails. Towels hung from a forest of gray, stenciled pipes overhead: there were a couple of steam presses inside, old laundry mangles.
And carton after strapped carton of old Hollywood movie films, the thick mechanical kind that ran through projectors.
They were neatly labeled with hand-printed tape: MONROE #1,
MONROE #2, GRAnLE, HAYWORTH, CICCONE. There was a closed- circuit phone on the wall, an old-fashioned sound-only handset with a long, curly cord. The sight of it made her think of the Net. Then, of David. Her family, her people.
She had vanished from their world. Did they think she was dead? They were still looking for her, she was sure. But they would look in Singapore's jails, and hospitals, and, finally, the morgues. But not here. Never.
A Red Crewman made up her bunk with clean, sheet- whipping efficiency.
He produced a nasty-looking pair of chromed tin snips.
"Let's see them hands," he said. The two remaining bracelets of plastic handcuff still looped Laura's wrists. He pinched and worried at them till they came loose, reluctantly. "Musta been a mighty sharp knife that cut those," he said.
"Thanks '
"Don't thank me. It was your pal Mr. Hesseltine's idea."
Laura rubbed her skinned wrists. "What's your name, sir?"
" 'Jim' will do. I hear you're from Texas."
Читать дальшеИнтервал:
Закладка:
Похожие книги на «Islands in the Net»
Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «Islands in the Net» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.
Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «Islands in the Net» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.