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↓ Двор Ганнеркригг [Gunnerkrigg Court] – Выпуск №1889: Глава 64, страница 27
На вшах побольше ездят вши поменьше,
Зовутся паразиты.
На тех, поменьше, ездят еще мельче
И так ad infinitum
Зовутся паразиты.
На тех, поменьше, ездят еще мельче
И так ad infinitum
Мда, загрузка разума (Mind Upload) - зрелище крайне неаппетитное, если со стороны посмотреть.
Huw is holding her right hand under the cold-water tap and swearing when there’s another a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” she calls down the hall.
“It’s the Singularity,” a booming voice calls.
...
“I said,” Huw says, “I don’t want any.”
“I’m afraid I rather must insist,” says the infinity-botherer through his augmented, celestial voice box. The force of that voice makes Huw take an involuntary wincing step backwards, like a blast from an air horn. “Huw, this is mandatory, not optional... it seems your name came out of the hat first. So I’m afraid you’re back on jury duty, like it or not. If it’s any consolation, I’ll try to make this painless.”
“Shitbiscuits!” she screams as Mum gently wraps a band of silvery-shimmering nanomanipulators around Huw’s head and saws off the top of her skull.
This is an enlightened age, and Mum has every intention of sparing her sole surviving meatbody offspring any pain. The process of uploading is not, however, a pretty one. Blue smoke billows and bone shrapnel (and not a little blood and cerebrospinal fluid) splashes around the consulate, wafting on an overpowering stench of scorched flesh and burning fat. Huw’s body twitches and spasms, hanging limply from the golem’s spare arms as a hundred billion nanomanipulators whizz helter-skelter all over her exposed cranial vault, mapping synaptic connections and sticking nanowires into lower-lying neurons as they ablate her brain, layer by layer, replacing each onion-shell of cells with a soft sim. Eyes roll and Huw drools bloody spittle for a couple of minutes: a bystander from an earlier century would mistake the scene for a particularly barbaric public execution, death by silvery metal cauliflower.
Finally Huw’s brainpan is occupied by a mass of baroque circuitry, flashing and sparking and scattering rainbows of iridescent light. The twitching ceases and she relaxes in Mum’s embrace. The decerebrated body swallows, then clears its throat. “Mum? I had the weirdest fucking dream just now—”
The golem raises the arm that terminates in the brain-sized clot of bloodied interface circuitry from the top of Huw’s skull, and the decorticated corpse collapses. “That was no dream, darling,” Mum-bot says sadly.
(c) "The Rapture of the Nerds" by Cory Doctorow and Charles Stross"
Huw is holding her right hand under the cold-water tap and swearing when there’s another a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” she calls down the hall.
“It’s the Singularity,” a booming voice calls.
...
“I said,” Huw says, “I don’t want any.”
“I’m afraid I rather must insist,” says the infinity-botherer through his augmented, celestial voice box. The force of that voice makes Huw take an involuntary wincing step backwards, like a blast from an air horn. “Huw, this is mandatory, not optional... it seems your name came out of the hat first. So I’m afraid you’re back on jury duty, like it or not. If it’s any consolation, I’ll try to make this painless.”
“Shitbiscuits!” she screams as Mum gently wraps a band of silvery-shimmering nanomanipulators around Huw’s head and saws off the top of her skull.
This is an enlightened age, and Mum has every intention of sparing her sole surviving meatbody offspring any pain. The process of uploading is not, however, a pretty one. Blue smoke billows and bone shrapnel (and not a little blood and cerebrospinal fluid) splashes around the consulate, wafting on an overpowering stench of scorched flesh and burning fat. Huw’s body twitches and spasms, hanging limply from the golem’s spare arms as a hundred billion nanomanipulators whizz helter-skelter all over her exposed cranial vault, mapping synaptic connections and sticking nanowires into lower-lying neurons as they ablate her brain, layer by layer, replacing each onion-shell of cells with a soft sim. Eyes roll and Huw drools bloody spittle for a couple of minutes: a bystander from an earlier century would mistake the scene for a particularly barbaric public execution, death by silvery metal cauliflower.
Finally Huw’s brainpan is occupied by a mass of baroque circuitry, flashing and sparking and scattering rainbows of iridescent light. The twitching ceases and she relaxes in Mum’s embrace. The decerebrated body swallows, then clears its throat. “Mum? I had the weirdest fucking dream just now—”
The golem raises the arm that terminates in the brain-sized clot of bloodied interface circuitry from the top of Huw’s skull, and the decorticated corpse collapses. “That was no dream, darling,” Mum-bot says sadly.
(c) "The Rapture of the Nerds" by Cory Doctorow and Charles Stross"
Может я чего-то путаю? Стражи продлевают свою хреновенькую жизнь, поглощая цветочки, которые растут на рабочих особях, но для этого надо чтобы цветочек обработала тьма, которую они для этого кормят молодыми человеками?
Похоже, Филиса станет следующим "погонщиком человеков". Не забываем - происходящее в этой арке - это его кошмар.
Я когда-то ехидничал в комментарии "А срать она тоже их научит"?
По ходу, это оказалось не шуткой, а самой что ни есть суровой правдой.
Несмотря на внешнее сходство с Dresden Codak (в т.ч. внешность героини), суть этого комикса полностью противоположна.
По ходу, это оказалось не шуткой, а самой что ни есть суровой правдой.
Несмотря на внешнее сходство с Dresden Codak (в т.ч. внешность героини), суть этого комикса полностью противоположна.
Отредактировано «skuirradiated» 29.06.2017 09:05:04