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

"What do you mean?" he said quickly.

"When you never came back yesterday, I began to worry about you. Then I felt them fumbling around my Tank. I knew something was wrong."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was very busy yesterday. I didn't have time to-"

"Don't try to explain. I already know what they're getting ready to do."

"What? What're you talking about. How?" He looked out at the great mass of flesh, seeing it for the first time as something that could be very different from what he had always imagined.

"The night-shift Monitor told me what had happened. I forced him to do it. I wanted to know why they were tampering with me. And when he told me, I was hurt by it. Why couldn't you tell me, Benjamin? I didn't want that other man to tell me, but I had no choice."

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say.

"It hurt to know that you had run out of the Complex without telling me, Benjamin."

"Please," he said. "I understand what you're saying. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

"Why do they call it a `scrape'?"

"It's just slang, that's all. It doesn't mean anything. They don't do abortions that way anymore."

"Will they be coming soon?" she asked.

"I think so. Don't worry. It won't take long. You won't even feel-"

"No, Benjamin. I don't want them to do it. You've got to tell them not to do it."

Cipriano suppressed a laugh, although it was more from anxiety than from humor. "You don't want it? There isn't anything you can do about it. It's the law, Feraxya! Chicago doesn't allow random births. You know that."

"The only thing I know is that they want to destroy my brood. They want to cut me open and rip them from my flesh. It is wrong," she said slowly.

"There was a mistake in the gene-printing," said Cipriano, trying to explain things in the only way he understood. "Your fetuses aren't perfect constructs."

"But they're human beings, Benjamin. They want to murder them. I can't let them do it."

Cipriano tried to understand her feelings, her reasons for talking such nonsense to him. He began to fear that maybe she was losing control of her senses. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked finally. "You know there isn't anything I can do about it."

"You can tell them not to try. I want to give them a chance."

"They won't listen to me, Feraxya. Barstowe's already scheduled the surgery for this morning. There's nothing you can do but accept what's happening. Face the truth: you're getting an abortion." He regretted the last sentence as soon as he had said it. He could almost feel the pain he was inflicting in her.

"I can't believe that's really you talking. I always thought you were different from the rest of them. You acted like you had more understanding, more compassion . . ."

"You make it sound like I'm against you," he said defensively.

"Perhaps you're not. But you've got to tell them that I'll stop anybody who tries to get near me. Even kill them if necessary." Feraxya's voice in his mind was sharp, cutting deeply into his skull like a bright razor.

"And you're telling me about understanding, about compassion? Feraxya, what's happening to you?" Inwardly, he reviewed her last words. What was this talk about killing? If her mind was going, Barstowe would have to know about it.