"Egan, Greg - Demon's Passage, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Egan Greg)

The Demon's Passage

Greg Egan


Somebody out there, show your compassion, come and kill me. Cut me free and
watch me slowly shrivel, or slice me up and flush me down a toilet. Any way you
like, I don't mind. Come on! You do it for your youngest children, you do it for
your sick old parents. Come and do it for me. I can tell you'd like it. Don't be
nervous, lovers! You'll never be found out, if that's what's holding you back:
I'll stay silent to the end, be it swift or slow. Come on, people! I'm totally
defenceless. Hurry up! Don't be shy. You have the right. You made me, you
created me, so you know you have the right.
Who am I? What am I, that can whisper pleas for death into your clean and honest
minds? I could give you twenty questions, but I fear that you'd need more.
Animal, for sure. Smaller than a bread-box now, but growing every day. Two legs?
Four legs? Six? Eight? I have no limbs, I have no face; no fangs, no claws, you
musn't fear me. I am the stuff of thought (pure and impure), and what could be
more harmless than that?
Practicalities: you'll need my address. Can you hear me in the back rows? Are
you reading me, Brazil? I can certainly hear all of you, louder than my own
thoughts at times, but then I am such a sensitive little pudding, and you have
so many unavoidable distractions. Like:
Oh, green and brown and blue and white
Fade to black as the Earth turns into night
Oh, thank you Lord for such a wondrous sight
I'm a-higher than the sky so I know we'll be all right!
It has a highly infectious melody, I must admit. No doubt there'll soon be
dozens more singers queueing to record in the Shuttle, especially after all
those Limited Edition Zero-Gee Pressings sold for a hundred thousand each.
Hoo-wheee! Thank you, Lord!
Yes, my address: Surry Hills, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. I'm in the
basement of the Australian Biotech Playground. You can't miss it: the forecourt
is the only vomit-free region for miles around, since the Brain Chemistry people
here developed an ingenious new toxin which selectively repels the local
homeless alcoholics. Should turn out to be quite a money-spinner, if they market
it properly.
But if you still have trouble finding the place, it's a tall, white building set
in a pleasant square of shrubs and modern sculpture. The logo above the entrance
is quite distinctive: an erect phallus which dissolves, or rather unravels
half-way, into a double-helix of DNA. The cruder members of staff here are split
about equally between those who say this symbol means "fuck molecular biology!"
and those who say it means "molecular biology will fuck you!". The city's
feminists are similarly divided, between those who see it as a hopeful sign of
freedom (the penis being superseded by a technology that women can master and