spread in the void over the pond’s dark water.
«So you hacked the system?» she couldn’t stop laughing. «Amazing! I met a man who managed to hang the AI system!»
«Well, it’s not that I’m proud of it», Mansour said in confusion and tried to change the subject. «If you believe the photos, once upon a time there were trees here. They’ve been gone for a long time, but you can see the sky from here right now. Generally, in the past, all the ponds were different – for sure, you saw them on holograms. People came here to distance themselves from the fuss, to talk on a bench under the shadow of branches, and to feed ducks. It was very romantic here».
They stood near the concrete fence, looking at the dark body of water.
«It’s romantic here now as well», Margaret said, raising her eyes to the sky.
Two stars were glowing high at the top of the night sky. Without a doubt, they were real stars, not glitches of holograms – they glittered in the middle of a strictly faceted skyscraper piece of heaven that topped the pole of empty space above an ancient pond.
«I look into this bottomless sky, and even the air seems sweet», Margaret spoke quietly. «Tell me about your book!»
«It wasn’t easy to learn how to write letters on paper», Mansour sighed. «It is more difficult than any quest – and if I show AI this ability, my level will be immediately raised. But I didn’t learn to write so I can eat more delicious food and have a higher access level in entertainment. I was just wondering – would I be able to succeed?»
«So, did it work out?» Margaret asked.
«Yes», Mansour nodded. «I wrote a novel about a man living in the twentieth century. He only dreams of a future, in which robots will free people of the need to do hard work. At the same time, he tries to figure out what people will do so as not to degrade from boredom. Gradually, step by step, he invents and logically justifies what our civilization has come to – the gray level of today’s well-being everyone has. And those, for whom it’s not enough to have a bed in a small room and minimal nutrients from protein bars – engage in quests and receive rewards. Scientists who have been able to invent something that AI has not thought of, or those who have set interesting tasks for it, receive the gold level. You want to eat delicious feed – develop yourself. Yet, the essence of the novel is not in that; I just stated the obvious. The essence for me is in the everyday scenes; in which way my characters travel to work using the transport of that era, in how they walk near ponds – real, not holographic… how they are taking pictures of scary wild birds ready to fly at any moment. How many of the people do not believe that the golden age will one day come».
Margaret approached her face to Mansour and looked at him intently. Mansour realized that he had to do something now… but what? Not being able to come up with anything better, he hugged her firmly and kissed her on the lips.
«It was beautiful», Margaret said quietly a couple of minutes later when they interrupted the kiss to take a breath. «Still, do you have a sex robot? Actually, what a silly question. Of course, you do…»
«Ehm… I am ashamed to admit that I turned my sex robot off a year ago», Mansour said.
Margaret laughed loud once more.
«Well, it is simply since I…» Mansour tried to find words to justify and prove that he has no problem with potency, but Margaret, laughingly, exclaimed:
«I turned my robot off two years ago and thought I was the only one on the entire planet who is that crazy!»
Mansour hugged her again and kissed her.
«Let’s go!» he said. «I certainly don’t have a white-gold level, but my bed is soft and wide!»
«No!» Margarethe said playfully. «No bed! Didn’t you say there’s no CCTV on the lower level? To the alley!!»
Having grabbed him by the coat collar, with the determination of the athlete, psyched for a victory, Margaret dragged the last and only writer of the Earth into the darkness.
Для Lindsay
На проекте Golos у меня есть муза под ником Lindsay. Чудесная талантливая девушка, мы дружим. Несколько рассказов я написал для неё.
Мои несладкие пятнадцать
Недавно полученный паспорт утверждает, что меня зовут Пётр Чернышов, и мне пятнадцать лет. Сейчас я зависаю в офисе фирмочки, гордо называющей себя «агентством торжеств», потому что у меня летние каникулы, и мать не хочет, чтобы я болтался без дела.
Хотя назвать моё времяпрепровождение «работой» язык не поворачивается. Вот вчера я понадобился – и сегодня вроде тоже должен понадобиться. Или нет. Не знаю. Но мне прикольно общаться с дизайнерами, хотя я ни черта не понимаю в этом их фотошопе.
Проходя мимо зеркала, оглядел себя. Ничего выдающегося, очень простая внешность и прикид. Чёрные джинсы и тёмная рубашка с коротким рукавом, украшенная хитрым орнаментом – линии, мелкие кружочки и пузырьки, складывающиеся в сложный рисунок. Всё, как я люблю – нестандартно, но не слишком экстравагантно, чтобы не выделяться в толпе и не привлекать к себе внимание всех окружающих в радиусе пары километров.
Чайник закипел, я разлил кипяток по чашкам с пакетиками чёрного чая – и отнёс всем, кто просил.
Офис находится в подвале… то есть, конечно же – в цокольном этаже старинного дома, построенного в середине 19-го века. Наверно, эта развалюха могла бы считаться историческим памятником… но слишком уж убого выглядит. И – над нами коммуналка. Живущие там алкаши периодически буйствуют. Интересная получилась метафора – российский малый бизнес живёт в подвале, над которым буйствуют весёлые алкоголики.
Фирма занимается сразу всем. Даже вяжет