"Goonan, Kathleen Ann - The Day The Dam Broke" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goonan Kathleen Ann)

The cocoons were old, on the top floor of the nearly- deserted hospital, at the
end of old dun-colored halls which had not been grown but built, probably fifty
years before. The sociologists in L.A. had told me that I probably couldn't
under stand the pride involved and at that point, staring at the co coons which
Don and Mildred showed me with decorum and reverence, I realized the
sociologists had been right and wondered what other good advice I might have
ignored. Though the hospital smelled of disinfectant the walls were grubby and
this room did not quietly gleam with nan cleaners as I was used to. It was lit
with a bare bulb and pipes mazed the ceiling with an old fire- protection
system. The cocoons themselves filled me with a strange poignancy, for at the
instant I saw them I realized how far in time I actually was from L.A. There
were four. They looked like one of the original models, and probably the city
had purchased them during the initial surge of faith, when it was thought that
nan could cure everything. The style was unmistak able, the curve of the
cocoons, the oldstyle computers which regulated them visible, small crystals set
on shelves above, connected to the cocoons with cables. An antiquer's delight,
the kind of thing you see campily displayed in lofts, or even mu seums. I
wondered what long-abandoned programming might lurk within those crystals. I
should have wondered harder. As for the hospital itself, it simply staggered me
with its age.
One of the things I had learned was how much the natives would dislike me.
Though I looked at Don and wondered, I had been carefully programmed to be
nonjudgemental about that. Well, that part worked a bit too well, I must say.
The natives had good reasons for rejection. Nan had laid waste to most of the
country through all sorts of vectors.
"Are you sure . . . ?" I asked and Don looked at me in an exasperated fashion
with veed eyebrows dark and shaggy, Mildred behind him a bit more anxious. "Our
population is--different from that of L.A., Dr. Chang," he said, still scowling.
"I would be the first to acknowledge how rural we truly are, how backward. But I
personally ran the checks . . . "
"Fine, fine," I said, too hastily, please remember and stop laughing at my
idiocy that I had never been out of the city and knew nothing, directly. Inforam
does not come into play until your hands, as it were, touch. To put it simply,
you may not even know that you are filled with the works of Bach, until you sit
down in front of an organ and then it all floods out, per fect. No, I knew
nothing of Thurber, the Great Plains, or Don's particular fears. I didn't even
know how to suspect or infer them, or that I ought to. Mildred was married to
Don and did, but did not suspect him of perfidy; I was to learn that was not an
emotional possibility for her. And his action sprang from pride, from anger at
having some hotshot newdoc sent out with all that authority, jurisdiction,
though I was ten years younger than he was, and from fear that I knew a lot more
than he did, which was absolutely true. If I had had some sort of background in
schlepping delicately among the egos of those who had more--or less--at stake
than the mere salvation of humankind, I might have been more cautious.
Don left, and Mildred made a few adjustments to the crys tals, silent with a
technician's concentration. She smiled and squeezed my shoulder, then I was
alone in the warm dry room and I stripped off my skinsuit and stepped into the
cocoon. I lay down and felt the familiar clasp as it molded itself around me and
was satisfied via the fuzzy logic code which flashed within my retina that this
cocoon, Don's sheets, and my internalized system were compatible. It required a