"May, Julian - Galactic Milieu 3 - Magnificat" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)
And so do I!
The artificial enhancement of creative brainpower was no more immoral than the augmentation of human muscles by levers and other machines. When they were backed into a corner, the exotics would have to give in--or finally admit that their Unified minds were afraid of human mental superiority.
I'll continue research on the full-body rig and in time I'll demonstrate its practicality in some overwhelming fashion and they won't dare to suppress it.
The radical new technology had had a difficult birth.
His CEREM organization included no workers who were expert in the advanced cryonics needed for the revolutionary design. And so Jeffrey Steinbrenner, his Director of Bionics, had suggested that they secretly approach Dierdre and Diarmid Keogh, the shining lights of Du Pont's Cryotechnology Division. Overcoming his personal distaste for the eccentric lifestyle of the talented pair, he had requested a private feasibility consultation at an astronomical fee. In a surprisingly short time the brother and sister presented CEREM with a credible "barber-chair" full-body CE rig proposal that was everything he had ever dreamt of.
Provided that it could be made compatible with the operating system of the E18.
He thought it could. So did Jordan Kramer and Gerrit Van Wyk, the hotshot psychophysicists he had lured away from Cambridge University, who had helped him to modify the SIECOMEX system for the ultra brain-booster. Steinbrenner, a brilliant neurologist as well as a specialist in bionics, had been less certain of success.
But I'm certain now.
Because of the need for perfect security he was doing the systems compatibility analysis himself. Shortly before fatigue cut short the marathon simulation session, his efforts finally seemed to be pointing to a positive resolution.
The full-body CE rig would be built and he would use it.
And nobody is going to stop me--not Jack, not the First Magnate, not the Science Directorate, not the whole GalacticMilieu...
He was home. The doors of the subterranean egg-bay opened, a welcoming haven of light on Orcas Island's western flank. The rhocraft docked and he hauled his aching frame out and trudged to the lift.
Perhaps if my body wasn't so damned big it would require less sleep.
But he was 196 cents tall and weighed more man a hundred kilos, having inherited the massive frame of some ancestral French-Canadian voyageur. In the North Woods of the eighteenth or nineteenth century his powerful muscles, big hands, and bull neck would have given him a decided survival advantage; in the Galactic Milieu, A.D. 2078, a heroic body was very nearly an embarrassing anachronism.
The elevator door opened on the second floor and he stepped out. His imposing multileveled house, built of cedar and native stone, was maintained by a single nonoperant houseman named Thierry Lachine, assisted by an extensive array of domestic robotics. Thierry had long since retired and the premises were silent except for the muted tumult of the storm outside. There was a spectacular view of the San Juans and Vancouver Island from the glass-walled corridor leading to his bedroom, but he lacked the energy to exert his farsight and banish the darkness.
Sleep. All I want to do is sleep.
He was so fatigued that the thought of food was repellent, but he knew he required nourishment. Yielding to a nostalgic impulse, he called up from the bedroom snack unit a fortified version of Grandmшre Lucille's favorite Franco-American comfort food, remembered from his early childhood: Habitant pea soup, thick and golden and aromatic. He downed it unceremoniously, drinking from the bowl, then stripped off his clothes and fell into bed naked. Exhausted as he was, his mental and physical safeguards remained adamantly in place. No one could harm him while he slept
He had made certain of that.
So it's you again.
I don't... when I'm awake. I thought you were long gone. Go away!
No. You're full of the most incredible shit you're a REMsleep dream I don't want to listen to you I don't have to--
I doubt it damned sex-obsessed dickhead.
I've abolished my sexual urges. They're an irrational distraction. Useless.
< You still dream of her [image] allow her to enter your mind and when you wake up...>
I... I can't help that. No one can control dreams. Especially wet ones.
Bullshit. Human beings have practiced celibacy sublimated sex in favor of a greater good for ages.
Like Paul does? Plant my superior germ plasm in every other presentable grandmasterclass female in the sector? [Revulsion.]
The other members of my family have increased and multiplied enough to satisfy the most fanatical eugenicist. God--I've lost count of the number of cousins I have!
Merde et mon oeil... Go away.
No God damn you I won't look at her--
!!!Jesus!!! You perverted swine.
Get out of my mind! GET OUT!
It doesn't matter.
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