"Sean McMullen - Alone in His Chariot" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

Schilden snorted. "I thought the AIDS crisis showed what we can and cannot do. Why worry, though? If
prisoners are in dreamout they need minimal security and care. No bars, no warders, just rows of boxes
with tubes going in and out."
"But they're not being punished!" exclaimed Drake. "Chrissake, how will the community take to someone
committing murder then spending the rest of his life in heaven? All we will be doing is putting the criminals
where they can do no more harm."
"So what is wrong with that? The role of the law is to protect the innocent."
"It's not so simple," sighed the coroner. "Look at history. Early last century Britain had a penal colony in
Australia, at Botany Bay. Did you know that Botany Bay was so good compared to Britain that people
committed crimes just to be sentenced to transportation there? Once they were released food and drink
was cheap, there was plenty of work, and wages were good.
"Our situation is similar. Nostalgia sells for about ninety pounds a dose on the drug network, though it
costs only 1% of that to make. Any loser with nothing to look forward to but cheap rooms and junk food
for the rest of his life only has to scrape up the cost of a dose, and one Conan movie. After that our taxes
pay for the intravenous drip and nursing, while he 'lives' in palaces. He - or she - can have an improved
body too."
"It would never become widespread," said Schilden uncertainly. "Dreamout is like death. You never
come back."
"Dreamout is not like death," said the coroner. He looked to Drake, who nodded. "The addicts have
been doing experiments that the law forbids to you scientists. A willing dreamouter can be brought back
weeks later by another dose of TEFG-7. Undercover agents have seen it done. They beat you to it, Dr
Cottak."
"But that's wonderful!" exclaimed Schilden. Cottak grimaced, either in anger or frustration.
"Not so," said Drake. "Their dreams blend into their long term memory, become indistinguishable from
reality. Vuner's dream of beating up his old school enemy became so good that he could not tell when he
was really doing it. People who have been revived often have very low violence thresholds. Spend a
week as Conan or Rambo and that's who you come back as. We can't afford to have people running
loose who have spent much time on TEFG-7."
Schilden sat back and folded his arms, shaking his head. "Not everyone is a psychopath," he said. "The
problem only seems serious because criminals are currently the main users."
"No Rolf, remember the work of Hall and Nordby in the early Seventies?" said Cottak, her face a blank
mask.
"Eh? Ach, the statistical work. I only glanced at their book. I am a neurochemist, after all."
"You should have read it more carefully. The work is The Individual and His Dreams, Mr Drake. I can
lend you my copy. They took a sample of 1000 young Americans of both sexes and found that nearly
half of their dreams contained aggression - fights, rapes, murders. The rate of murder among
dream-characters was one in 150. That's about 100 times the real world average. The figures are similar
for other nationalities and cultures.
"Dreams and reality have been separated in nature as a survival trait. If an Australopithecus dreamed that
he could kill sabre-tooth tigers with his bare hands, then believed the dream . . . well, he got removed
from the gene pool next time he met a real sabre-tooth tiger. REM dreams, and most daydreams, have
inefficient neurological access to long term memory. That's why we remember them best if we write them
down or talk about them: the act of describing them 'fixes' them.
"The drug, my drug, frees us from nature, which forces us to live in the real world. We must isolate those
who use TEFG. Once a person believes he has committed a murder, it is easier to do it again, but in real
life. Worse, they will actually be stronger if it's part of their dream. Most people have greater muscular
strength than they realise. Alter their self-image and they can use it all."
As she finished, Schilden took off his glasses to retreat. Drake scribbled something on the report in front
of him, then flung the pen down. The coroner looked from face to face for a sign of hope.
"We may be forced to covertly deal with the drug networks, and keep files of those who have tried