"Joe Haldeman - More Than the Sum of His Parts" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

MORE THAN THE SUM OF HIS PARTS
21 August 2058

They say I am to keep a detailed record of my feelings, my perceptions, as I grow
accustomed to the new parts. To that end, they gave me an apparatus that blind people use
for writing, like a tablet with guide wires. It is somewhat awkward. But a recorder would be
useless, since I will not have a mouth for some time, and I can't type blind with only one
hand.
Woke up free from pain. Interesting. Surprising to find that it has only been five days
since the accident. For the record, I am, or was, Dr. Wilson Cheetham, Senior Engineer
(Quality Control) for U.S. Steel's Skyfac station, a high-orbit facility that produces
foamsteel and vapor deposition materials for use in the cislunar community. But if you are
reading this, you must know all that.
Five days ago I was inspecting the aluminum deposition facility and had a bad accident.
There was a glitch in my jetseat controls, and I flew suddenly straight into the wide beam of
charged aluminum vapor. Very hot. They turned it off in a second, but there was still plenty
of time for the beam to breach the suit and thoroughly roast three quarters of my body.
Apparently there was a rescue bubble right there. I was unconscious, of course. They tell
me that my heart stopped with the shock, but they managed to save me. My left leg and arm
are gone, as is my face. I have no lower jaw, nose, or external ears. I can hear after a
fashion, though, and will have eyes in a week or so. They claim they will craft for me
testicles and a penis.
I must be pumped full of mood drugs. I feel too calm. If I were myself, whatever fraction
of myself is left, perhaps I would resist the insult of being turned into a sexless half-
machine.
Ah well. This will be a machine that can turn itself off.

22 August 2058

For many days there was only sleep or pain. This was in the weightless ward at Mercy.
They stripped the dead skin off me bit by bit. There are limits to anesthesia, unfortunately. I
tried to scream but found I had no vocal cords. They finally decided not to try to salvage the
arm and leg, which saved some pain.
When I was able to listen, they explained that U.S. Steel valued my services so much that
they were willing to underwrite a state-of-the-art cyborg transformation. Half the cost will
be absorbed by Interface Biotech on the Moon. Everybody will deduct me from their taxes.
This, then, is the catalog. First, new arm and leg. That's fairly standard. (I once worked
with a woman who had two cyborg arms. It took weeks before I could look at her without
feeling pity and revulsion.) Then they will attempt to build me a working jaw and mouth,
which has been done only rarely and imperfectly, and rebuild the trachea, vocal cords,
esophagus. I will be able to speak and drink, though except for certain soft foods, I won't eat
in a normal way; salivary glands are beyond their art. No mucous membranes of any kind. A
drastic cure-for my chronic sinusitis.
Surprisingly, to me at least, the reconstruction of a penis is a fairly straightforward
procedure, for which they've had lots of practice. Men are forever sticking them into places
where they don't belong. They are particularly excited about my case because of the
challenge in restoring sensation as well as function. The prostate is intact, and they seem
confident that they can hook up the complicated plumbing involved in ejaculation' Restoring
the ability to urinate is trivially easy, they say.
(The biotechnician in charge of the urogenital phase of the project talked at me for more