"Mike Resnick - Death is an Acquired Trait" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike) DEATH IS AN ACQUIRED TRAIT
by Mike Resnick As things stand now, the 2043 Kentucky Derby is going to be won by Hi Falutin, which is a pretty silly name for a horse, but by the time his career is over it won't seem any sillier than Swaps or Tim Tam or Seattle Slew. He's going to win by a neck in two minutes one second flat on a fast track, and Barfly, who will finish third, will be disqualified and placed last for interfering with three other horses in the homestretch. Exactly seven thousand one hundred and fifty-six years later, the star known as Antares will go nova. And two million and three years after that, the first glimmerings of intelligence will be noticeable among the strange little mollusks that inhabit the tidal pools on the fourth planet of the star known as Spica. I'd tell you my name, but you probably couldn't pronounce it and I probably wouldn't spell it the same way twice in a row -- it changes a lot, you know (or maybe you don't know, which really isn't my problem anyway). I think will tell you where I come from, though. It changes a lot too, but these days we're calling it Quiggle. Or maybe Quabble. Anyway, it's the sixth planet circling the star you know as Betelguese. Or, at least, it used to be. I don't think it's there anymore. Just as well. Seeing it would only depress me -- especially the spot where I'm buried. But now I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Once upon a time I belonged to a race of humanoids that inhabited the sixth planet of Betelguese, which we used to call Profff in the old days. Also, I use the word "humanoids" only to give you a point of reference. Actually, I always thought we were more the human type, and that you guys were the humanoids. But why quibble? (Say, that's not bad! I think we'll call it Quibble starting next week.) all that hard to come by. Huge skyscrapers covered the surface of our fair world, except where there was water, in which cases enormous bubble-domed cities floated atop the mighty seas, plying their commerce between the many majestic continents. In a matter of a few centuries we achieved space flight, converted all our appliances and factories to sunpower, eliminated completely and forever any taint of racial prejudice, outgrew all of our superstitious old religions, and began probing the secrets of the universe in earnest. Unfortunately, all this took a little while to accomplish, especially the part about the secrets of the universe, and while our medical science had progressed far beyond anything you are ever going to achieve, we nonetheless aged and died, albeit at a far slower rate than any other life form in the galaxy. Well, to cut through all the palaver, one of the secrets of the universe we sought to unlock was the secret of eternal life. We already had lifespans of more than a millennium, so that seemed the next logical step. We tried injections, and freezing, and hypnosis, and DNA surgery (yes, we could operate on DNA molecules back then), and hormone injections, but nothing seemed to work. Then one day Raxrgh Ghhouule -- that's not his name any longer, but it's the one I curse all the time -- came up with a solution to the problem that involved a little biochemistry, a little philosophy, a little physics, and a couple of other things that I couldn't even pronounce let alone spell. As a result of his experiments, we became completely free of our physical shells and became creatures of pure thought. Or maybe pure energy. I was never too clear on that point, though I don't imagine that it makes any difference at this late date. (And a late date it is: my body turned to dust almost eight billion years ago.) At first we were utterly delighted with our new-found immortality. We retained our individuality, and while we could no longer see or hear or touch, we gained a whole plethora of new perceptive senses. Of course, there were a few things that were lost forever. Like crachhm. You've never heard of |
|
|