"Nicola Griffith - Ammonite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Griffith Nicola)

those times.
It could take up to two minutes for an object to travel down the esophagus to the
stomach. She imagined the softgels dropping gently through the pyloric sphincter,
the acids in her stomach breaching the gelatin of their shells, the watery pink liquid
spilling FN-17. Enzymes breaking it down, carrying it into her bloodstream, into her
cells. An experimental biofactured vaccine against Jeep. Jeep the virus, named after
the planet.
For more than two years she had tried to imagine how it would feel to swallow the
vaccine. She put her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling.

тАЬYouтАЩre running away,тАЭ her father had said, pacing his study in Portugal,
wandering out of the screen visual pickupтАЩs line of sight.
тАЬIтАЩm not,тАЭ Marghe had objected. It was spring, and the scent of grass and the
sound of ewes lambing on the Welsh hillside carried through the open windows of
her cottage. тАЬThis is the most fabulous opportunity for an anthropologist sinceтАж
since the nineteenth century.тАЭ
тАЬAnd why do you suppose the joint Settlement and Education Councils are
offering it to you? Because youтАЩre the best qualified person?тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩm not as naive as that.тАЭ
тАЬThen think, Marghe, think! You resigned from SEC once. They havenтАЩt
changedтАФjust as corrupt as ever. Last time you got beaten up and hospitalized.
What will happen this time? ThereтАЩs more at stake. And this, this running away
because of AcquilaтАЩs death wonтАЩt help anyone.тАЭ
тАЬI can do this job. I understand the risks. And MotherтАЩs death has nothing to do
with it.тАЭ
тАЬDoesnтАЩt it?тАЭ Suddenly he leaned forward, close to the screen pickups. He
looked concerned. Marghe was reminded of the time when she was four and had
fallen down the crumbling steps of the remains of the Portuguese cathedral in
Macau, and her father had appeared as if from nowhere and scooped her into his
arms. Daddy will take care of everything. But he hadnтАЩt. Two years later he had
gone to the Hammami region of Mauritania, to study the changing social structures,
he said. And her mother had gone up to the moon, to teach social anthropology at
the new university. All the young Marghe had had of her parents for the next two
years were three battered books that lit up with their names on the fronts and their
holos on the back when she thumbed them on, and a telescope through which she
had watched the moon on every clear night.
She shook her head impatiently. тАЬMotherтАЩs dead, and IтАЩm sick of teaching at
Aberysrwyth. IтАЩm good, too good to be stuck here.тАЭ
тАЬYou should never have accepted that post in the first place.тАЭ
It was an old argument. The fact was, she had not had much choice. SEC was the
main career path for linguists and anthropologists these days; after her promising
start on Gallipoli, she had gone to Beaver, the Durallium CompanyтАЩs mining planet,
where her worldview and her face had been forcibly rearranged, and that path had no
longer been open to her. Or so she had thought.
She changed tack. тАЬLook, if you could go anywhere in the universe to study
people, where would you choose? Jeep. This is a chance of a lifetime, anybodyтАЩs
lifetime.тАЭ
тАЬThe last SEC rep died.тАЭ
тАЬCourtivron and the others didnтАЩt have the vaccine. I do.тАЭ
тАЬAnd maybe the vaccine will kill you.тАЭ