"Arinn Dembo - Sisterhood Of Skin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dembo Arinn)

of the seismic tide. The Captain belayed my order to submerge the Albatross
and
search. The silkie took her prey unseen and unhindered down into the dark.

I finished my autopsy of the creature sometime during the first shift this
morning, rinsed off my isolation gear under a spray of green antiseptic in the
lab and then hiked wearily up the narrow iron staircase to my quarters. The
suit
had to be stripped off piece by piece and dropped into the autoclave, and my
skin scrubbed until my body stings all over and I'm half-boiled-- still, I
feel
a fever coming on; my teeth are already starting to chatter with anaphylactic
chills; there must be elements in that thick blood which can penetrate my
skin.
The passage of my throat is narrowing. Feels as if the air is thickening
somehow, becoming more difficult to breathe. My body is attacking itself --
and
good riddance.

I never have wanted this body. I've applied a dozen times for improvements,
been
denied every time-- even the simplest things, like full spectrum eyes. Some of
the crew have them. Or a simple immune enhancement; if I had one I wouldn't be
suffering like this now. My False Counselor always relays the same message:

"We've found that implants are inadvisable in cases like yours, Ms. Tso. These
improvements are poorly suited to a personality motivated by feelings of
inadequacy. I can't recommend the procedure, based on your record." One
doesn't
have the luxury of hating that placid, smoothly animated face; the computer is
perfect, it cannot err. The Counselor program is so realistic that it took me
six months to realize that I wasn't actually seeing a human therapist -- a
good
one. It provided all the encouraging noises and probing questions I'd come to
expect from a psychologist. "If you need to talk, you know I'm always
available."
The hate belongs at home. If you have to hate anything, hate this weak,
flabby,
fallible shell; hate the personal failings that have trapped you inside it.

At any rate, I can't sleep with my breath being squeezed away; might as well
record my impressions of the silkie for future reflection.

This was apparently the one that got Jones. I found a naval wristwatch and
three
old copper coins on a chain -- a good luck charm! -- in its digestive tract.
These were in one of several secondary stomachs which surround the much larger
primary digestive cavity. I can't determine the purpose for these subsidiary
organs: at first I thought I might have stumbled on a second reproductive
system-- those nine egg-plant shaped stomachs were beribboned with blood