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

The slidewalk moved on, taking him away from the entertainment Sector. He entered a corridor of glassteel spires-Chicago's con-apt Sectors. Cipriano untangled the matrix of walks and ramps and lifts which led to his building, and reluctantly ascended to his con-apt level. Before he could palm the homeostatic lock, Jennifer was at the door, her face a portrait of concern. All the media had been blurting. out the news of the near-catastrophe at the Eugenic Complex; she already knew what he had been forced to do.

During dinner she pressed him for details, which he produced grudgingly in short clipped sentences. Even Jennifer could perceive his lack of enthusiasm. "Perhaps I can help," she said.

At first he did not understand, for his mind was not really listening to her. Only after she stood up from the table and took a few steps towards the bedroom did he fully comprehend: she wished to console him in the only manner that she knew.

He felt cold. The memory of Feraxya's last moments of life passed through him like winter's breath. He could feel her reaching through the darkness, trying until the very end to make him know her, choosing him to be cursed with her memory.

Jennifer called his name.

Feraxya's image shattered like broken glass, and he felt himself rising from his chair, entering the bedroom.

A solitary candle burned there, where Jennifer sat making cursory adjustments on the machine. Turning, she reached out and began to undress him. Mechanically, he did the same for her.

As her clothes fell away, revealing her warm, silky flesh, he suddenly saw her differently. Instead of reaching for the wired bands and electrodes, Cipriano extended his hand and touched one of her breasts. For a moment, she was transfixed, frozen by his action. His hand slowly moved, cupping the fullness in his hand, brushing her nipple with his fingers.

He felt it swell and become rigid as she spoke: "No . . . no! Oh, please Benjamin . . . don't. Please. . ."

"But why?" he asked as he removed his hand. Inwardly he was still marvelling at the softness of her.

"Not like that," she was saying. "The machine. We can't. Not without the machine."

Something dark and ugly roiled inside his mind. He wanted to challenge her, to break through her defenses with his reckless anomie. But when he looked into her haunted eyes and saw the fear and disbelief that lay there, he knew that he could not. She could not be touched. In either sense.

Lying down, he let her attach the electrodes, felt her recline beside him. The humming of the machine rose in intensity, crowding out his thoughts. Sensations seeped into him, sending slivers of pleasures into the maelstrom of his mind's center. Vaguely, he was aware of Jennifer writhing beside him, arching her body upwards as the simulations increased. His own desires, finally awakened, snaked through him, radiating out from his groin, threatening to strangle him with their grasp. He resisted the electronic impulses, and focused his mind's eye upon the Breeder Tank where Feraxya floated in the jellied sea, where she had been able to touch him, perhaps even love him, like no one had ever done before.

Jennifer increased the accentuator, forcing the machine to drive them to unusual, even for her, frenzy. The
energy-burst overwhelmed him as he finally succumbed to the wave of pleasure collapsing over him.

Feraxya faded from his consciousness as he tripped through a series of orgasms.