"William H. Keith Jr. - Warstrider 03 - Jackers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Keith jr William H)

This one, obviously, was in pain. Kawashima stared into
those pleading eyes - their irises were pale blue - and
shuddered. It seemed as though he was looking into twin
wells of bottomless, endless horror.
"I am very proud of that one," Munimori said at his back.
Kawashima started. He'd not heard the admiral's return.
"It isтАж most interestingтАж"
"One of Tsuru's finest masterpieces."
"Ah." Dr. Masanori Tsuru had been one of the greatest
of all Nihon's geneshapers, artists who used DNA as
canvas and paint to craft living art forms of flesh, blood,
and brain. "If this is one of his, my lord, it must be very
old."
"Almost ninety years. Still, I'm told it might live for
centuries more. I hope so. I find it a most personal
statement about Man's eternal suffering beneath the Great
Wheel." Paternally, he laid a hand on the thing's hunched
and headless shoulders. Kawashima saw the flesh crawl
and tremble beneath his touch. "Over ninety percent of
this one's genotype is pure human. Its nervous system has
been tuned to transmit constant pain, something roughly
on a level, I understand, with being burned alive except
that the pain never overloads the organism's brain and
senses and never dulls. Its brain is fully functional, and
according to its papers it was link-educated so that it
could, ah, fully appreciate its predicament. That adds so
much to the work's meaning, you know. It is not simply a
live sculpture, something pretty to look at, but a thinking,
knowing soul trapped in a living hell."
Kawashima felt dizzy, and the pale walls of the sparsely
furnished room seemed to be closing in around him. Why?
he wanted to ask, but to demand an explanation for this
twisted horror would be to insult his host.
"CanтАж it speak?"
"Oh, no. No lungs, no voice box. The mouth is purely
art. I have to provide it with a special nutrient each day,
watering it like a plant, or it would lapse into a coma and
die. The ears are functional, however. It can hear us and
understand what we say. Beautiful, is it not?"
"Remarkable, my lord."
"Actually, I suspect that after ninety years, it must be
quite mad. But just look at those eyes. Mad or not, it still
feels, after all this time! Occasionally I speak to it,
promising release for it, one day. I don't know if it believes
me or not, but I permit myself the small conceit that it must
continue to hope, through year after year of unendurable
agony. Tell me, Chujosan. Do you believe in the
transmigration of souls?"
The sudden change of topic left Kawashima
off-balance. "IтАж I have never thought about it,