"John Varley - Picnic On Nearside" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

have to bother with elimination or eating. I have a tank for nutrients, which are fed into the housing
where my brain and central nervous system are located." He paused. "I tried to eliminate the ups and
downs of hormone flow and the emotional reactions that followed," he confided.

"No dice, huh?"

"No. Something always distracted me. So when I heard of this place where they would cyborg
me and get rid of all that, I jumped at the chance."

Inactivity was making Bach impulsive. She had to say or do something.
 "Where did you get the work done, Hans?" she ventured. The bomb started to say something,
but Birkson laughed loudly and slapped Bach hard on the back. "Oh, no, Chief. That's pretty tricky,
right Hans? She's trying to get you to rat. That's not done, Chief. There's a point of honor involved."

"Who is that?" the bomb asked, suspiciously.

"Let me introduce Chief Anna-Louise Bach, of the New Dresden Police. Ann, meet Hans."

"Police?" Hans asked, and Bach felt goose-pimples when she detected a note of fright in the
voice. What was this maniac trying to do, frightening the guy like that? She was close to pulling
Birkson off the case. She held off because she thought she could see a familiar pattern in it, something
she could use as a way to participate, even if ignominously. It was the good guy-bad guy routine, one
of the oldest police maneuvers in the book.

"Aw, don't be like that," Birkson said to Hans. "Not all cops are brutes. Ann here, she's a nice
person. Give her a chance. She's only doing her job."

"Oh, I have no objection to police," the bomb said. "They are necessary to keep the social
machine functioning. Law and order is a basic precept of the coming new Mechanical Society. I'm
pleased to meet you, Chief Bach. I wish the circumstances didn't make us enemies."

"Pleased to meet you, Hans." She thought carefully before she phrased her next question. She
wouldn't have to take the hardline approach to contrast herself with affable, buddy-buddy Birkson.
She needn't be an antagonist, but it wouldn't hurt if she asked questions that probed at his motives.

"Tell me, Hans. You say you're not a Luddite. You say you like machines. Do you know how
many machines you'll destroy if you set yourself off? And even more important, what you'll do to this
social machine you've been talking about? You'll wipe out the whole city."

The bomb seemed to be groping for words. He hesitated, and Bach felt the first glimmer of hope
since this insanity began.

"You don't understand. You're speaking from an organic viewpoint. Life is important to you. A
machine is not concerned with life. Damage to a machine, even the social machine, is simply something
to be repaired. In a way, I hope to set an example. I wanted to become a machineтАФ"

"And the best, the very ultimate machine," Birkson put in, "is the atomic bomb. It's the end point
of all mechanical thinking."

"Exactly," said the bomb, sounding very pleased. It was nice to be understood. "I wanted to be