"Breath's A Ware That Will Not Keep" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monteleone Thomas F)

It was several minutes before the white uniformed specialists from Bioneering entered his booth. One of them read over the data collected from his console while the other two adjusted their white, antiseptic, helmeted suits as they prepared to enter the Breeder Tank Area itself. Cipriano looked past them, through the glass window to Feraxya, who floated within her prison still ignorant of her problems.

Later, as he watched the Bioneers scurrying about Feraxya's Tank, he wondered if she could, somehow, sense their nearness, their insensitive prying into the secrets of her grotesque body. He wanted to talk to her, and he entertained the notion of contact as his eyes fell upon the psi-helmet by the console.

One of the Bioneers returned to the booth, quickly removing his helmet and wiping some perspiration from his forehead. He looked at Cipriano and shook his head.

"What's that mean?" said Ben.

"Not good," said the man in white. "There hasn't been any reaction between the DNA/enzyme interface. The `blueprint injections' didn't copy at all. That's why you were getting the alarms."

"Which means . . . " asked Cipriano.

"Which means her fetuses would be completely variable if we brought them to term." The man paused and gestured out towards Feraxya's Tank. "Randoms -that's what we're growing in that one."

"What do we do now?"

"You'd better call Barstowe," said the Bioneer. "My men'll be making an official .report, but I think he'd appreciate knowing about it now."

Cipriano knew what Barstowe would say: they would have to remove her brood. He wondered what Feraxya's reaction to the decision would be. Remembering how pleased she had been to receive her first implantation, Cipriano did not look forward to the moment when he would have to confront her with the news.

After he had contacted Barstowe and relayed the
results of the Bioneers' inspection, the Superior shook

his head, grimacing. "That's too bad. Going to throw

us off schedule. I'll arrange for Stander to prepare for
a scrape as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, hope
fully."



"I was wondering when I should tell Feraxya about it," said Cipriano.

The foxlike features stared at him for a moment. "You'll have plenty of time in the morning. Don't y worry about it. You really don't have anything else to do today; why don't you get out of here?"

"All right," said Cipriano. "But I hope she understands why." Barstowe didn't answer; the screen had already blacked. Ben shook his head slowly and shut down his console. He left the Eugenic Complex and took the Rapids home to his con-apt; hoping that the following day would be less difficult than this one.

That night, Jennifer wanted him.

She was warm and young and fashionably lean; and he wanted her, too. He always did. She was something of a romantic, since she always used candles to illuminate their lovemaking, but Cipriano didn't mind.

Jennifer helped him attach the electrodes to his forehead; she had already hooked herself into the machine.:? They lay side by side, naked, in the candlelight as the'

machine beneath their bed hummed and touched their pleasure centers. Physiological feedback was encoded from each of them, amplified, and routed into each other as mutual Stimuli. Their orgasms were reached simultaneously with the aid of the machine. Never touching each other, not needing to do so, there was no chance of a nonapproved conception. Afterwards, they lay in silence, smiling from the rush of moist satisfaction. Jennifer arose in the semi-darkness and unhooked the electrodes. Cipriano was asleep before she even turned off the machine.

When he reached his console the next morning, he sensed there was something different about the Eugenic Complex. He hoped that it was merely his imagination. Through the glass, he could see several technicians and a Bioneer working on Feraxya's Tank.

Cipriano placed the psi-helmet on his head and flipped the transmission switch. "I've been expecting you," said Feraxya, instantly crowding his mind; the transmission was almost aggressive.