"Michael Swanwick - Radiant Doors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

to soldier on."

"Why?"

"Because of them." She nodded her chin toward the slow-moving revenants of
things to come. "They're the living proof of everything we hate and fear. They are
witness and testimony to the fact that absolute evil exists. So long as there's the
least chance, we've got to try to ward it off."

I looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then, in a voice as cold and calmly
modulated as I could make it, I said, "Take your god-damned hand off my ass."

She did so.

I stared after her as, without another word, she left.

This went beyond self-destructive. All I could think was that Gevorkian wanted
out but couldn't bring herself to quit. Maybe she was bucking for a sexual
harassment suit. But then again, there's definitely an erotic quality to the death of
hope. A sense of license. A nicely edgy feeling that since nothing means anything
anymore, we might as well have our little flings. That they may well be all we're
going to get.

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Michael%20Swanwick%20-%20Radiant%20Doors.htm (7 of 21) [12/30/2004 8:07:58 PM]
 Radiant Doors by Michael Swanwick This story first appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, September 1998


And all the time I was thinking this, in a drawer in my desk the device quietly sat.
Humming to itself.

People keep having children. It seems such a terrible thing to do. I can't
understand it at all, and don't talk to me about instinct. The first thing I did, after I
realized the enormity of what lay ahead, was get my tubes tied. I never thought of
myself as a breeder, but I'd wanted to have the option in case I ever changed my
mind. Now I knew I would not.

It had been one hell of a day, so I decided I was entitled to quit work early. I was
cutting through the camp toward the civ/noncom parking lot when I ran across
Shriver. He was coming out of the vic latrines. Least romantic place on Earth.
Canvas stretching forever and dispirited people shuffling in and out. And the
smell! Imagine the accumulated stench of all the sick shit in the world, and you've
just about got it right.

Shriver was carrying a bottle of Spanish champagne under his arm. The bottle had
a red bow on it.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

He grinned like Kali and slid an arm through mine. "My divorce finally came
through. Wanna help me celebrate?"