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A Dali clock hung on the wall between the bookcases, its distorted face sagging to the bare concrete floor. Its hands were holograms that altered to match the convolutions of the face as they rotated, but it never told the correct time.
“Anybody any good at what they do, that’s what they are, right? You gotta jack, I gotta tussle.”
Fads swept the youth of the Sprawl at the speed of light; entire subcultures could rise overnight, thrive for a dozen weeks, and then vanish utterly.
“You can’t let the little pricks generation-gap you,” Molly said.
On his way back to the lobby, his cigarettes forgotten, he had to walk the length of the ranked phones. Each rang in turn, but only once, as he passed.
Human DNA spreading out from gravity’s steep well like an oilslick.
“DIX,” CASE SAID, “I wanna have a look at an AI in Berne. Can you think of any reason not to?” “Not unless you got a morbid fear of death, no.”
And faces peering in from a neon forest, sailors and hustlers and whores, under a poisoned silver sky. .
Brain’s got no nerves in it, he told himself, it can’t really feel this bad.
Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed, the rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes, magic out of China. . . .”
“To call up a demon you must learn its name. Men dreamed that, once, but now it is real in another way.
the horizonless fields of the Tessier-Ashpool cores, an endless neon cityscape, complexity that cut the eye, jewel bright, sharp as razors.
