"Greg Egan - Distress (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Egan Greg)

beat-operating at power levels which would poison every cardiac muscle fiber with electrochemical
by-products, in fifteen or twenty minutes at the most. Pre-oxygenated ersatz blood was being fed
into his heart's left atrium, in lieu of a supply from the lungs, pumped through the body once
only, then removed via the pulmonary arteries and discarded. An open system was less trouble than
recirculation, in the short term. The half-repaired knife wounds in his abdomen and torso made a
mess, leaking thin scarlet fluid into the drainage channels of the operating table, but they posed
no real
4
threat; a hundred times as much blood was being extracted every second, deliberately. No one had
bothered to remove the surgical larvae, though, so they kept on working as if nothing had changed:
stitching and chemically cauterizing the smaller blood vessels with their jaws, cleaning and
disinfecting the wounds, sniffing about blindly for necrotic tissue and clots to consume.
Maintaining the flow of oxygen and nutrients to the brain was essential but it wouldn't reverse
the deterioration which had already taken place. The true catalysts of revival were the billions
of lipo-somes-microscopic drug capsules made from lipid membranes-being infused along with the
ersatz blood. One key protein embedded in the membrane unlocked the blood-brain barrier, enabling
the liposomes to burrow out of the cerebral capillaries into the interneural space. Other proteins
caused the membrane itself to fuse with the cell wall of the first suitable neuron it encountered,
disgorging an elaborate package of biochemical machinery to re-energize the cell, mop up some of
the molecular detritus of ischaemic damage, and protect against the shock of re-oxygenation.
Other liposomes were tailored for other cell types: muscle fibers in the vocal fold, the jaw, the
lips, the tongue; receptors in the inner ear. They all contained drugs and enzymes with similar
effects: hijacking the dying cell and forcing it, briefly, to marshal its resources for one final-
unsustainable-burst of activity.
Revival was not resuscitation pushed to heroic extremes. Revival was permitted only when the long-
term survival of the patient was no longer a consideration, because every method which might have
achieved that outcome had already failed.
The pathologist glanced at a display screen on the equipment trolley. I followed her gaze; there
were wave traces showing erratic brain rhythms, and fluctuating bar graphs measuring toxins and
breakdown products being flushed out of the body. Lukowski stepped forward expectantly. I followed
him.


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The assistant hit a button on a keypad. The victim twitched and coughed blood-some of it still his
own, dark and clotted. The wave traces spiked, then became smoother, more periodic.
Lukowski took the victim's hand and squeezed it-a gesture which struck me as cynical, although for
all I knew it might have reflected a genuine compassionate impulse. I glanced at the bioethicist.
Vis T-shirt
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now read CREDIBILITY IS A COMMODITY. I couldn't decide if that was a sponsored message or a
personal opinion.
Lukowski said, "Daniel? Danny? Can you hear me?" There was no obvious physical response, but the
brain waves danced. Daniel Cavolini was a music student, nineteen years old. He'd been found
around eleven, bleeding and unconscious, in a corner of the Town Hall railway station-with watch,
notepad, and shoes still on him, unlikely in a random mugging gone wrong. I'd been hanging out
with the homicide squad for a fortnight, waiting for something like this. Warrants for revival
were issued only if the evidence favored the victim being able to name the assailant; there was