Johnny Mnemonic by William Gibson

Author:William Gibson
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Performing Arts, Johnny Mnemonic (Motion pictur, cinema, Movie, Film scripts & screenplays, Fiction, Science Fiction Films, Films, Plays & Screenplays, Drama Texts, Science Fiction, Media Tie-In - General, Film & television screenplays, Screenplays Of Specific Films, TV Tie-Ins, Johnny Mnemonic (Motion picture), Film & Video, Motion picture plays, General, Science Fiction - General, Film & Video - General, Media Tie-In
ISBN: 9780441002344
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1995-06-01T05:00:00+00:00

I'm not sure this profiles as good business,' the pirate said, angling

for better money. 'Target specs on a comsat that isn't in the book -'

'Waste my time and you won't profile at all,' said Molly, learning

across his scarred plastic desk to prod him with her forefinger.

'So maybe you want to buy your microwaves somewhere else?' he was a

tough kid, behind his Mao-job. A Nighttowner by birth, probably.

Her hand blurred down the frond of his jacket, completely severing a

lapel without even rumpling the fabric.

'So we got a deal ot not?'

'Deal,' he said starting at his ruined lapel with what he must have

hoped was only polite interest. 'Deal.'

While I checked the two records we'd bought she extracted the slip of

paper I'd given her from the zippered wrist pocket of her jacket. She

unfolded it and read sirently, moving her lips. She shrugged. 'This is

it?'

'Shoot,' I said, punching the RECORD studs of the two desks

simultaneously.

'Christian White,' she recited, 'and his Aryan Reggae Band.'

Fairtful Ralfi, a fan to his dying day.

Transition to idiot-savant mode is always less abrupt than I except it

to be. The pirate broadcaster's front was a failing travel agancy in a

pastel cube that boasted a desk, three chairs, and a faded poster of a

Swiss orbital spa. A pair of toy birds with blown-glass bodies and tin

legs were sipping monotonously from a Styrofoarm cup of water on the

ledge beside Molly's shoulder. As I phased into mode, they accelerated

gradually until their DayGlo-feathered crowns became solid arcs of

color. The LEDs that told seconds on the plastic wall clock had become

meaningless pulsing grids, and Molly and the Mao-faced boy grew hazy,

their arms blurring occasionally in insect-quick ghosts of gesture. And

then it all faded to cool gray static and an endless tone poem in the

artificial language.

I sat and sang dead Ralfi's stolen program for three hours.

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