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- Ричард Морган
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Modified carbon
Two
hours
before
dawn
I
sat
in
the
peeling
kitchen
and
smoked
one
of
Sarah
’
s
cigarettes
,
listening
to
the
maelstrom
and
waiting
.
Millsport
had
long
since
put
itself
to
bed
,
but
out
in
the
Reach
currents
were
still
snagging
on
the
shoals
,
and
the
sound
came
ashore
to
prowl
the
empty
streets
.
There
was
a
fine
mist
drifting
in
from
the
whirlpool
,
falling
on
the
city
like
sheets
of
muslin
and
fogging
the
kitchen
windows
.
Chemically
alert
,
I
inventoried
the
hardware
on
the
scarred
wooden
table
for
the
fiftieth
time
that
night
.
Sarah
’
s
Heckler
&
Koch
shard
pistol
glinted
dully
at
me
in
the
low
light
,
the
butt
gaping
open
for
its
clip
.
It
was
an
assassin
’
s
weapon
,
compact
and
utterly
silent
.
The
magazines
lay
next
to
it
.
She
had
wrapped
insulating
tape
around
each
one
to
distinguish
the
ammunition
;
green
for
sleep
,
black
for
the
spider
venom
load
.
Most
of
the
clips
were
black
-
wrapped
.
Sarah
had
used
up
a
lot
of
green
on
the
security
guards
at
Gemini
Biosys
the
previous
night
.
My
own
contributions
were
less
subtle
.
The
big
silver
Smith
&
Wesson
,
and
the
four
remaining
hallucinogen
grenades
.
The
thin
crimson
line
around
each
canister
seemed
to
sparkle
slightly
,
as
if
it
were
about
to
detach
itself
from
the
metal
casing
and
float
up
to
join
the
curlicues
of
smoke
ribboning
off
my
cigarette
.
Shift
and
slide
of
altered
significants
,
the
side
effect
of
the
tetrameth
I
’
d
scored
that
afternoon
down
at
the
wharf
.
I
don
’
t
usually
smoke
when
I
’
m
straight
,
but
for
some
reason
the
tet
always
triggers
the
urge
.
Against
the
distant
roar
of
the
maelstrom
I
heard
it
.
The
hurrying
strop
of
rotorblades
on
the
fabric
of
the
night
.
I
stubbed
out
the
cigarette
,
mildly
unimpressed
with
myself
,
and
went
through
to
the
bedroom
.
Sarah
was
sleeping
,
an
assembly
of
low
-
frequency
sine
curves
beneath
the
single
sheet
.
A
raven
sweep
of
hair
covered
her
face
and
one
long
-
fingered
hand
trailed
over
the
side
of
the
bed
.
As
I
stood
looking
at
her
the
night
outside
split
.
One
of
Harlan
’
s
World
’
s
orbital
guardians
test
-
firing
into
the
Reach
.
Thunder
from
the
concussed
sky
rolled
in
to
rattle
the
windows
.
The
woman
in
the
bed
stirred
and
swept
the
hair
out
of
her
eyes
.
The
liquid
crystal
gaze
found
me
and
locked
on
.
"
What
’
re
you
looking
at
?
"
voice
husky
with
the
residue
of
sleep
.
I
smiled
a
little
.
"
Don
’
t
give
me
that
shit
.
Tell
me
what
you
’
re
looking
at
.
"
"
Just
looking
.
It
’
s
time
to
go
.
"
