There were people at most of the tables. Like the outdoor furniture, they slowly resolved in his perception, as if a contrast control was being turned up on the screen of his Cartesian theater. He also became aware of a wide gap that bisected the patio, an aisle between the tables. Lela followed his eyes. “Professional demarcation,” she said. “Foresight strategists on this side. Nonprofits, charitable institutions, universities, design companies, the civil stuff. On the other side? Strategic forecasters. Global security groups, corporate think tanks, spook stuff. You know the score.” Dearden did. He was a futurist. They were all futurists. Everyone here gazed into the abyss for a living. Do it long enough, and the abyss would gaze back into you. If the abyss did that for long enough, the people who paid you for your eyes would send you to Normal Head. The place was paid for by foundations and multinationals alike, together. Most of their human probes needed it, one way or another, in the end.
— Warren Ellis, Normal ‎- волна бургерных
[этот мерзкий тип стал роман, обещанный прошлой осенью, выпускать этим летом отдельными киндл-синглами. Эллис хорош, но я его порицаю] ‎- волна бургерных
“Why?” The Director sighed, and looked at the speaker as if he was a child whose mother drank toilet cleaner during her pregnancy. “Because it remains entirely possible that someone in this room was involved with the crime.” There was a rumble across the room. “Come on,” said the Director. “You are all completely mad people who mess around with technology and weird social theory for fun until your brains shit themselves and you fall over. Any of you could have done this.” ‎- волна бургерных
“Buoylent?” “You know what Soylent is, right? The powder mix that gives you all your nutritional requirements? Half of the Bay Area’s been drinking it for years. They make their own custom versions of it here. Buoylent is like a medical version for mood management. Tastes better than Soylent, too. Much less like drinking a hobo’s sperm.” ‎- волна бургерных
“I’m fine,” Adam said. Dickson had the demeanor of a man watching an insane person urinating in a christening bowl and being unable to do anything meaningful about it. He shook his head and left at an amphetamine trot. ‎- волна бургерных