"Norman Spinrad - Journals of the Plague Years 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spinrad Norman)

"I'm a living reservoir of every Plague strain extant, my dear," he told
me. "And I do my best to keep up with the latest mutations."
Max believed that all black-carders had a moral obligation to have as much
meatsex with one another as possible. So as to speed the pace of evolution. In
a large enough pool of cross-infected Plague victims the virus might mutate out
into something benign. Or a multiimmunity might evolve and spread quickly. A
pathogen that killed its host was, after all, a mal-adapted organism, and as
long as it was killing us, so were we.
"Natural selection, my dear. In the long run, it's our species' only
hope. In the long run, everyone is going to Get It, and it's going to get most
of us. But if out of the billions who will die, evolution eventually selects
for multiimmunity, or a benign Plague variant, the human race will survive. And
for as long as all these pallies keep me going, I intend to serve the process."
It seemed crazy to me, and I told him so, exposing yourself to every
Plague strain you could. Didn't that mean Condition Terminal would just come
quicker?
Saint Max shrugged. "Here I am," he said. "No one's been exposed to as
many Plague variants as me. Maybe it's already happened. Maybe I've got
multiimmunity. Maybe I'm a mutant. Maybe there's already a benign strain
inside me."
He smiled sadly. "We're all under sentence of death the moment we're born
anyway, now aren't we, my dear? Even the poor blue-carders. It's only a matter
of how, and when, and in the pursuit of what. And like old John Henry, I intend
to die with my hammer in my hand. Think about it, Linda."
And I did. I offered Max a ride up the coast and he accepted and we ended
up traveling one full slow cycle of my circuit together. I watched Max giving
meat freely to one and all, to kids like me new to the underground, to thieves,
and whores, and horrible Terminals on the way out. No one took Saint Max's
crazy theory seriously. Everyone loved him.
And so did I. I paid my way with the usual interface sex, and Max let it
be until we were finally back in Santa Monica and it was time to say goodbye.
"You're young, Linda," he told me. "With good enough pallies, you have years
ahead of you. Me, I know I'm reaching the end of the line. You've got the
heart for it, my dear. This old faggot would go out a lot happier knowing that
there was someone like you to carry on. Think about it, my dear, 'A Short Life
but a Happy One,' as they say in the Army of the Living Dead. And don't think
we're all not in it."
I thought about it. I thought about it for a long time. But I didn't do
anything about it till I saw Max again, till Max lay dying.

WALTER T. BIGELOW

After two terms in the Virginia Assembly, I ran for Congress and was
elected. Capitol Hill was in a state of uproar over the Plague. National
policy was nonexistent. Some states were quarantining Plague victims, others
were doing nothing. Some states were testing people at their borders, others
were calling this a violation of the Constitution. Some representatives were
calling for a national health identity card, others considered this a civil
rights outrage. Christian groups were calling for a national quarantine policy.
Plague victims' rights groups were calling for an end to all restrictions on