"Vonda N. McIntyre-The End's Beginning" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntyre Vonda N)

distraction, I will be able to seek and find the low long tones of the great one's singing. In other days it
could have told its stories from halfway around the world.
Now when the great ones are not singing about the taste of the sea they sing of its sounds. A hundred
years ago a song sung at midnight would reach a place in full daylight, though by the time the song
traveled that far the destination would be in darkness and the source in day. The natural sounds of the sea
were no impediment to the songs, which slipped through choruses of grunts and bubbles, splashes and
cries, even the chatter of smaller people, my own kind. The whales were never parted from each other,
no matter how far they separated. Now they are solitary, lonely creatures who cannot learn fear.
I swim, I swim. The men's signal will not let me rest. There is a schedule. Schedules are for men and
machines, not for people. But now I am a machine, or little better. What else is a machine but a creature
with no will?
The machine inside me is cold.
If I could find my people I could tell them-- even mute, I could tell them by sight and motion-- to stop
me. Perhaps if they held me back long enough the humans would abandon me.
I might still have to die... but the men will kill me with the machine when I reach the end of my journey.
Nothing would keep them from destroying me if I could not finish the mission. Destroying me would be
safer for the men, who would think I had been captured by their enemies. If my kind stopped me and the
machine exploded, I would not be the only one to die. So I must cease hoping to find anyone to help
me.
I hear the low grumble of a killer whale, a sound that is almost the only thing we ever feared. But it is
not searching, simply lounging in the midnight sea. It must know I am here, but it is not hungry now. The
men call it killer whale but that species has no taste for human flesh, only for small people.
I do not wish to do the men's will. If the loss were only my life I could accept it, I think, if there were
any reason I could understand. But my life's end will be a signal for the men to begin killing each other.
They no longer kill each other only. This time when they begin the killing they will kill the world as well.
They have been practicing destruction on small southern islands. When they stop practicing they will
send their machines to explode on the earth like storms, and the dust from them will spread over land and
sea alike, poisoning everything. We who die quickly will be the fortunate ones.
If I could sing, I would taunt the killer whale and it would kill me. But I cannot attract its attention and
the men will not let me deviate far enough from my path to tease it, nip its flanks, provoke it to fury.
The men's command urges me on. I will tire sooner than I would have before I was imprisoned, but I
have not yet reached my limits. The moon disappears behind a cloud and the sea turns black and bright in
patches. The moon's light overpowered the glow of luminescent plankton, but in the darkness they stream
in glimmering streaks against the water. I pass beneath them, swim up and leap through them. I fling
drops of glowing spray in all directions. I come down flat, clumsily. I have forgotten my balance again.
I wonder if there are others like me, swimming toward the men's human enemies, trying to imagine the
wish to kill a member of one's own species. Or am I the only one directed across the sunless sea? Have I
the lonely duty of beginning the destruction?
If there are others, we all have similar fears. I wonder if any of us will be clever or lucky enough to
discover a way to stop.
The clouds that covered the moon are thick and ominous. I can see the scatter of rain across the
ocean's smooth swells. Now the rain is upon me, and I slow as much as I dare. I love to float just
beneath the surface and feel the raindrops on my back.
Fresh and salt water mix in a delicious pattern of textures on my skin. But the effect only occurs when
I stand still. The signal forces me to continue; the patterns disappear. I can feel only the seawater stroking
my sides and back as I swim on.
A dull throb grows louder. It is the sound of a ship's engines, almost in my path. At first I cannot see it,
but finally its lights appear on the horizon as I propel myself toward it. Could this be my destination? I
thought I was being sent to a harbor, so I had hoped for a few more hours of life.
Now I can see the ship clearly. It is a fishing boat.