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

"You can buy antique parts. You can have them made."
"Yes, if you can afford them. And if not--?"
The young man fell silent.
"Son, you're not going to live forever. We've just established that. So now that you've
admitted that you've got to die someday, you might as well admit that it's going to be sooner
rather than later. Mechanical people are in their infancy. And nobody can upgrade a Model T into a
stepping stage. Agreed?"
Jack dipped his head. "Yes."
"You knew it all along."
"Yes."
"That's why you behaved so badly toward that lush."
"Yes."
"I'm going to be brutal here, Jack-- you probably won't live to be eighty-three. You don't
have my advantages."
"Which are?"
"Good genes. I chose my ancestors well."
"Good genes," Jack said bitterly. "You received good genes and what did I get in their place?
What the hell did I get?"
"Molybdenum joints where stainless steel would do. Ruby chips instead of zirconium. A number
seventeen plastic seating for-- hell, we did all right by you boys."
"But it's not enough."
"No. It's not. It was only the best we could do."
 "What's the solution, then?" the granddaughter asked, smiling.
"I'd advise taking the long view. That's what I've done."
"Poppycock," the mech said. "You were an extensionist when you were young. I input your
autobiography. It seems to me you wanted immortality as much as I do."
"Oh, yes, I was a charter member of the life-extension movement. You can't imagine the crap
we put into our bodies! But eventually I wised up. The problem is, information degrades each time
a human cell replenishes itself. Death is inherent in flesh people. It seems to be written into
the basic program-- a way, perhaps, of keeping the universe from filling up with old people."
"And old ideas," his granddaughter said maliciously.
"Touche. I saw that life-extension was a failure. So I decided that my children would succeed
where I failed. That you would succeed. And--"
"You failed."
"But I haven't stopped trying!" The old man thumped the table in unison with his last three
words. "You've obviously given this some thought. Let's discuss what I should have done. What
would it take to make a true immortal? What instructions should I have given your design team?
Let's design a mechanical man who's got a shot at living forever."
Carefully, the mech said, "Well, the obvious to begin with. He ought to be able to buy new
parts and upgrades as they come available. There should be ports and connectors that would make it
easy to adjust to shifts in technology. He should be capable of surviving extremes of heat, cold,
and moisture. And"--he waved a hand at his own face--" he shouldn't look so goddamned pretty."
"I think you look nice," the granddaughter said.
"Yes, but I'd like to be able to pass for flesh."
"So our hypothetical immortal should be, one, infinitely upgradable; two, adaptable across a
broad spectrum of conditions; and three, discreet. Anything else?"
"I think she should be charming," the granddaughter said.
"She?" the mech asked.
"Why not?"
"That's actually not a bad point," the old man said. "The organism that survives evolutionary