"Greg Egan - Yeyuka (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Egan Greg)

anaesthetic to remove it. In Uganda, a single HealthGuard machine served 40 million people -- or
rather, the lucky few who could get access to it. Flying in wearing my own personal version seemed
almost as crass as arriving with a giant solar tattoo. Where I was headed, cancer had very
definitely not been defeated.
Then again, nor had malaria, typhoid, yellow fever, schistosomiasis. I could have the ring
immunise me against all of these and more, before removing it ... but the malaria parasite was
notoriously variable, so constant surveillance would provide far more reliable protection. I'd be
no use to anyone lying in a hospital bed for half my stay. Besides, the average villager or shanty-
town dweller probably wouldn't even recognise the thing, let alone resent it. I was being
hypersensitive.
I gathered up my things and headed for the cycle rack. Looking back across the sand, I felt the
kind of stab of regret that came upon waking from a dream of impossible good fortune and serenity,
and for a moment I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and rejoin it.


file:///G|/rah/Greg%20Egan/Egan,%20Greg%20-%20Yeyuka.txt (1 of 8) [2/2/2004 2:03:34 AM]
 file:///G|/rah/Greg%20Egan/Egan,%20Greg%20-%20Yeyuka.txt


Lisa saw me off at the airport.
I said, "It's only three months. It'll fly past." I was reassuring myself, not her.
"It's not too late to change your mind." She smiled calmly; no pressure, it was entirely my
decision. In her eyes, I was clearly suffering from some kind of disease -- a very late surge of
adolescent idealism, or a very early mid-life crisis -- but she'd adopted a scrupulously non-
judgmental bedside manner. It drove me mad.
"And miss my last chance ever to perform cancer surgery?" That was a slight exaggeration; a few
cases would keep slipping through the HealthGuard net for years. Most of my usual work was trauma,
though, which was going through changes of its own. Computerised safeguards had made traffic
accidents rare, and I suspected that within a decade no one would get the chance to stick their
hand in a conveyor belt again. If the steady stream of gunshot and knife wounds ever dried up, I'd
have to retrain for nose jobs and reconstructing rugby players. "I should have gone into
obstetrics, like you."
Lisa shook her head. "In the next twenty years, they'll crack all the molecular signals, within
and between mother and foetus. There'll be no premature births, no Caesareans, no complications.
The HealthGuard will smooth my job away, too." She added, deadpan, "Face it, Martin, we're all
doomed to obsolescence."
"Maybe. But if we are ... it'll happen sooner in some places than others."
"And when the time comes, you might just head off to some place where you're still needed?"
She was mocking me, but I took the question seriously. "Ask me that when I get back. Three months
without mod cons and I might be cured for life."
My flight was called. We kissed goodbye. I suddenly realised that I had no idea why I was doing
this. The health of distant strangers? Who was I kidding? Maybe I'd been trying to fool myself
into believing that I really was that selfless -- hoping all the while that Lisa would talk me out
of it, offering some face-saving excuse for me to stay. I should have known she'd call my bluff
instead.
I said plainly, "I'm going to miss you. Badly."
"I should hope so." She took my hand, scowling, finally accepting the decision. "You're an idiot,
you know. Be careful."
"I will." I kissed her again, then slipped away.