"Michael Swanwick - Ancient Engines" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

Leaving his recharge incomplete, the mech folded up his lubrication kit and slipped it in a
pocket. He swiped his hand over the credit swatch, and stood.
But as he was leaving, the old man swiveled around and said, "I heard you say you hope to
live forever. Is that true?"
"Who doesn't?" the mech said curtly.
"Then sit down. Spend a few minutes out of the infinite swarm of centuries you've got ahead
of you to humor an old man. What's so urgent that you can't spare the time?"
The mech hesitated. Then, as the young woman smiled at him, he sat.
"Thank you. My name is--"
"I know who you are, Mr. Brandt. There's nothing wrong with my eidetics."
Brandt smiled. "That's why I like you guys. I don't have to be all the time reminding you of
things." He gestured to the woman sitting opposite him. "My granddaughter." The light intensified
where she sat, making her red hair blaze. She dimpled prettily.
"Jack." The young man drew up a chair. "Chimaera Navigator-Fuego, model number--"
"Please. I founded Chimaera. Do you think I wouldn't recognize one of my own children?"
Jack flushed. "What is it you want to talk about, Mr. Brandt?" His voice was audibly less
hostile now, as synthetic counterhormones damped down his emotions.
"Immortality. I found your ambition most intriguing."
"What's to say? I take care of myself, I invest carefully, I buy all the upgrades. I see no
reason why I shouldn't live forever." Defiantly. "I hope that doesn't offend you."
"No, no, of course not. Why should it? Some men hope to achieve immortality through their
works and others through their children. What could give me more joy than to do both?
But tell me-- do you really expect to live forever?"
The mech said nothing.
"I remember an incident happened to my late father-in-law, William Porter. He was a fine
fellow, Bill was, and who remembers him anymore? Only me." The old man sighed. "He was a bit of a
railroad buff, and one day he took a tour through a science museum that included a magnificent old
steam locomotive. This was in the latter years of the last century. Well, he was listening
admiringly to the guide extolling the virtues of this ancient engine when she mentioned its date
of manufacture, and he realized that he was older than it was." Brandt leaned forward. "This is
the point where old Bill would laugh. But it's not really funny, is it?"
"No."
The granddaughter sat listening quietly, intently, eating little pretzels one by one from a
bowl.
"How old are you, Jack?"
"Seven years."
"I'm eighty-three. How many machines do you know of that are as old as me? Eighty-three years
old and still functioning?"
"I saw an automobile the other day," his granddaughter said. "A Dusenberg. It was red."
"How delightful. But it's not used for transportation anymore, is it? We have the stepping
stages for that. I won an award once that had mounted on it a vacuum tube from Univac. That was
the first real computer. Yet all its fame and historical importance couldn't keep it from the
scrap heap."
"Univac," said the young man, "couldn't act on its own behalf. If it could, perhaps it would
be alive today."
"Parts wear out."
"New ones can be bought."
"Yes, as long as there's the market. But there are only so many machine people of your make
and model. A lot of you have risky occupations. There are accidents, and with every accident, the
consumer market dwindles."