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"Are you sure he'll be all right?" - For probably the fifth time I asked, seeing the departing ambulance.

- Calm down, Rob. Bauer pointed out judiciously. “Neither you, nor I, nor anyone else can provide better help than doctors of cyber-psychiatry.

But he was released! He rested for a week, getting ready to go to work!

- Discharged as he recovered. But the problem is that it takes much longer for his nervous system to adapt to the high speed of signaling. Much longer than if I had had the operation. And certainly, much longer than it would take for you, the young one, accustomed to constantly driving billions of bytes of data through the spinal cord.

— And how old are you, Bauer?

— Thirty-seven, Rob. I, too, belong to a generation that was not grafted with silicon and gold.

Like Edik.

- Exactly. Cigarette?

- Thanks.

We stood on the porch and, spitting on all prohibitions, all instructions and laws, both written and unwritten, smoked, and there was no one to reproach us. The import su
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