Neuromancer - Gibson William - Страница 56

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The Kuang program spurted from tarnished cloud, Case's consciousness divided like beads of mercury arcing above an endless beach the color of the dark silver clouds. His vision was spherical, as though a single retina lined the inner surface of a globe that contained all things, if all things could be counted.

And here things could be counted, each one. He knew the number of grains of sand in the construct of the beach (a number coded in a mathematical system that existed nowhere outside the mind that was Neuromancer). He knew the number of yellow food packets in the canisters in the bunker (four hundred and seven). He knew the number of brass teeth in the left half of the open zipper of the salt-crusted leather jacket that Linda Lee wore as she trudged along the sunset beach, swinging a stick of driftwood in her hand (two hundred and two).

He banked Kuang above the beach and swung the program in a wide circle, seeing the black shark thing through her eyes, a silent ghost hungry against the banks of lowering cloud. She cringed, dropping her stick, and ran. He knew the rate of her pulse, the length of her stride in measurements that would have satisfied the most exacting standards of geophysics.

`But you do not know her thoughts,' the boy said, beside him now in the shark thing's heart. `I do not know her thoughts. You were wrong, Case. To live here is to live. There is no difference.'

Linda in her panic, plunging blind through the surf.

`Stop her,' he said, `she'll hurt herself.'

`I can't stop her,' the boy said, his gray eyes mild and beautiful.

`You've got Riviera's eyes,' Case said.

There was a flash of white teeth, long pink gums. `But not his craziness. Because they are beautiful to me.' He shrugged. `I need no mask to speak with you. Unlike my brother. I create my own personality. Personality is my medium.'

Case took them up, a steep climb, away from the beach and the frightened girl. `Why'd you throw her up to me, you little prick? Over and fucking over, and turning me around. You killed her, huh? In Chiba.'

`No,' the boy said.

`Wintermute?'

`No. I saw her death coming. In the patterns you sometimes imagined you could detect in the dance of the street. Those patterns are real. I am complex enough, in my narrow ways, to read those dances. Far better than Wintermute can. I saw her death in her need for you, in the magnetic code of the lock on the door of your coffin in Cheap Hotel, in Julie Deane's account with a Hongkong shirtmaker. As clear to me as the shadow of a tumor to a surgeon studying a patient's scan. When she took your Hitachi to her boy, to try to access it -she had no idea what it carried, still less how she might sell it, and her deepest wish was that you would pursue and punish her -I intervened. My methods are far more subtle than Wintermute's. I brought her here. Into myself.'

`Why?'

`Hoping I could bring you here as well, keep you here. But I failed.'

`So what now?' He swung them back into the bank of cloud. `Where do we go from here?'

`I don't know, Case. Tonight the very matrix asks itself that question. Because you have won. You have already won, don't you see? You won when you walked away from her on the beach. She was my last line of defense. I die soon, in one sense. As does Wintermute. As surely as Riviera does, now, as he lies paralyzed beside the stump of a wall in the apartments of my Lady 3Jane Marie-France, his nigra-striatalsystem unable to produce the dopamine receptors that could save him from Hideo's arrow. But Riviera will survive only as these eyes, if I am allowed to keep them.'

`There's the word,right? The code. So how've I won?I've won jack shit.'

`Flip now.'

`Where's Dixie? What have you done with the Flatline?'

`McCoy Pauley has his wish,' the boy said, and smiled. `His wish and more. He punched you here against my wish, drove himself through defenses equal to anything in the matrix. Now flip.'

And Case was alone in Kuang's black sting, lost in cloud.

He flipped.

Into Molly's tension, her back like rock, her hands around 3Jane's throat. `Funny,' she said, `I know exactly what you'd look like. I saw it after Ashpool did the same thing to your clone sister.' Her hands were gentle, almost a caress. 3Jane's eyes were wide with terror and lust; she was shivering with fear and longing. Beyond the freefall tangle of 3Jane's hair, Case saw his own strained white face, Maelcum behind him, brown hands on the leather-jacketed shoulders, steadying him above the carpet's pattern of woven circuitry.

`Would you?' 3Jane asked, her voice a child's. `I think you would.'

`The code,' Molly said. `Tell the head the code.'

Jacking out.

`She wants it,' he screamed, `the bitch wantsit!'

He opened his eyes to the cool ruby stare of the terminal, its platinum face crusted with pearl and lapis. Beyond it, Molly and 3Jane twisted in a slow motion embrace.

`Give us the fucking code,' he said. `If you don't, what'll change? What'll ever fucking change for you? You'll wind up like the old man. You'll tear it all down and start building again! You'll build the walls back, tighter and tighter... I got no idea at all what'll happen if Wintermute wins, but it'll changesomething!' He was shaking, his teeth chattering.

3Jane went limp, Molly's hands still around her slender throat, her dark hair drifting, tangled, a soft brown caul.

`The Ducal Palace at Mantua,' she said, `contains a series of increasingly smaller rooms. They twine around the grand apartments, beyond beautifully carved doorframes one stoops to enter. They housed the court dwarfs.' She smiled wanly. `I might aspire to that, I suppose, but in a sense my family has already accomplished a grander version of the same scheme...' Her eyes were calm now, distant. Then she gazed down at Case. `Take your word, thief.' He jacked.

Kuang slid out of the clouds. Below him, the neon city. Behind him, a sphere of darkness dwindled.

`Dixie? You here, man? You hear me? Dixie?'

He was alone.

`Fucker got you,' he said.

Blind momentum as he hurtled across the infinite datascape.

`You gotta hate somebody before this is over,' said the Finn's voice. `Them, me, it doesn't matter.'

`Where's Dixie?'

`That's kinda hard to explain, Case.'

A sense of the Finn's presence surrounded him, smell of Cuban cigarettes, smoke locked in musty tweed, old machines given up to the mineral rituals of rust.

`Hate'll get you through,' the voice said. `So many little triggers in the brain, and you just go yankin'~ 'em all. Now you gotta hate.The lock that screens the hardwiring, it's down under those towers the Flatline showed you, when you came in. Hewon't try to stop you.'

`Neuromancer,' Case said.

`His name's not something I can know. But he's given up, now. It's the T-A ice you gotta worry about. Not the wall, but internal virus systems. Kuang's wide open to some of the stuff they got running loose in here.'

`Hate,' Case said. `Who do I hate? You tell me.'

`Who do you love?' the Finn's voice asked.

He whipped the program through a turn and dived for the blue towers.

Things were launching themselves from the ornate sunburst spires, glittering leech shapes made of shifting planes of light. There were hundreds of them, rising in a whirl, their movements random as windblown paper down dawn streets. `Glitch systems,' the voice said.

He came in steep, fueled by self-loathing. When the Kuang program met the first of the defenders, scattering the leaves of light, he felt the shark thing lose a degree of substantiality, the fabric of information loosening.

And then -old alchemy of the brain and its vast pharmacy -his hate flowed into his hands.

In the instant before he drove Kuang's sting through the base of the first tower, he attained a level of proficiency exceeding anything he'd known or imagined. Beyond ego, beyond personality, beyond awareness, he moved, Kuang moving with him, evading his attackers with an ancient dance, Hideo's dance, grace of the mind-body interface granted him, in that second, by the clarity and singleness of his wish to die.

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