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

"I don't know, Benjamin. I'm scared. You know I'm scared. If they would promise to leave me alone, to leave my brood alone, I won't hurt them. My duty

to the Society is to produce new Citizens. That's what I

I want to do. That's all. You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes, I believe you," said Cipriano just as he was
distracted by several flashing lights on his console. He
hadn't touched any of the switches; the technicians
must be activating the controls through the recently
rigged bypass circuits. He knew what .was going to
happen.

"Benjamin, are you still there . . . ? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, while his mind raced
ahead, envisioning what would come next. He was of
two minds, one of which wanted to cry out, to warn

her of what was planned, the other that was content
to sit back and witness her execution. He heard him
self talking: ". . . and you've got to trust us, Feraxya.

You can't keep killing everybody. There would be no
one to maintain your systems. Everyone would lose in
the end." Watching the console, Cipriano recognized
the symbols that now blazed in bright scarlet on the
message grid. They were planning to terminate.

"All right, Benjamin . . ." Feraxya's words were echoing through his brain. "I'll-"

Her words were cut short. Cipriano jumped up from the chair, his eyes on the great Breeder Tank. The console chattered and flickered as it processed the remote commands being fed into it. "Feraxya!" he screamed as =a he realized what was happening, what she must now know. A life-support systems graph appeared on the grid; the plot lines all began dropping towards the y-coordinate. His mind was flooded with her last thoughts surprise, panic, loathing, and pain. For a moment he thought he felt her icy, telekinetic grip reaching out to him, enclosing cold fingers about his brain. The seconds ticked by with glacier like slowness. His mind lay in a

dark pit of fear as he awaited her retribution.

The life-fluids and the oxygen were cut off, and the great amorphous body convulsed within the Breeder Tank. She reached out and touched his mind for the last time, but in fear rather than anger or hate. She forced him to experience death. Cipriano closed his

eyes against this vicarious pain, unable to wrench the helmet from his head.

Then suddenly it was over. A gathering darkness filled him. The console had begun force-feeding acid through her circulatory system, bubbling away the flesh, insuring that she was gone.

The communicator screen grew into brightness and Barstowe's face appeared there. The Superior was smiling, but Benjamin ripped off the helmet and left the console before the man spoke. The corridor outside his booth was again filled with people, their voices loud with celebration and relief. He ignored their backslapping and shouldered past them to the descent elevators.

He kept wondering why she had touched him like that, at the end. Had she known? Did she think it was he that was killing her?

He left the Complex under the weight of his thoughts. Outside, Chicago sparkled under the night sky. Its sidewalks and transit systems were filling up with work-wearied crowds who sought entertainment in the City. Cipriano stepped onto a slidewalk that carried him through the midsection of the urban Complex. He was in no hurry to go home now.

Ahead of him, the walk snaked through a kaleidoscopic forest of color and light, through the pleasure-. center of the City-Xanadu. The crowds were heavy here, each seeking the mindless relief that was always to be found in this Sector. Cipriano studied them as he threaded his way through the mobs. They were all born of Host Mothers, like Feraxya, all laughing and playing their games of escape, oblivious to their grotesque origins. He passed a series of Fantasy Parlors, where the lines were already long. The patrons were mostly lower-level Citizens-nontechs, laborers, and drones that filled this Sector. They were all eager to use the City's computers to immerse themselves in imaginary worlds. Sexual fantasies were a major part of the catalog. Cipriano knew this as he passed the other opiate dispensing centers: the mind-shops, elec-drug centers, and other pleasure domes. The brightness of the lights assaulted him with their vulgar screams, the polished steel and reflecting glass shimmered with a special kind of tawdriness. For the first time, perhaps, Cipriano realized a terrible truth: the City was unable to provide for all of man's needs. There was something missing, something primal and liberating, something that was now only a desiccated memory out of man's dark history.

Perhaps Feraxya, too, was aware -of the deficiency, he thought. Perhaps that would help to explain what he had first thought to be her irrational action. He closed his eyes against the argon-brightness, frustrated because his questions would forever be unanswered.