"Judith Merril - The Future of Happiness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merril Judith)

 The baby squalls, but Martha lifts her with a smile, and points. She is trying to remember
which seeds she planted. Beans? Carrots? Squash?
She can almost taste the sweet fibrous starchiness of the squash. Let there be squash! she
prays, and sings happily to her baby, sitting warm in the sun, on sweet lifegiving soil. In the
distance there is an animal's cry.
No. It is six-year-old Bart's high voice, carrying across the valley. They are on their way home.
There will be meat. And milk for the babe. And greens. And summer, soon, at last.
Right. That same year marked the beginning of another careful harvest. Not all of the planet had
suffered as severely as Noramerica. Some of the medium-size, medium-growth, modest population
countries (particularly in the Caribbean and central Africa) had been able to retain enough technology and
leadership to begin a cautious reconstruction based on the use of recycled materials and energy from
wind, water and the sun.
But the fossil fuels were gone, and memories of enemy attacks on nuclear power plants made
uranium technology virtually taboo. In 2029, the first meeting was held, somewhere in Senegal, to begin
planning the construction of a solar-power satellite - the only hope of an energy source adequate for
major re-industrialization.
Then, in 2079 -
Estrella wriggles out of the duty-seat, turns over the monitoring board to Sergiu, and edges out
of the cramped cabin, feeling an unquenchable yearning for a long soapy shower-as unnecessary
in the dustless, smokeless, moisture-and-temperature controlled canned air as it is unavailable. On
the Station, water is for drinking.
She shoves off along the companionway toward the only slightly less-cramped and equally
predictable leisure quarters at the opposite side of the space satellite. The glamour of space!
Fifteen years of studying, sweating, bitterly competing to win a job on the Station! She can still
remember that old film, the startling image of an astronaut named Edward H. White tumbling
free in space, that started it all for her.
She stops at an open terminal, checks out her request with the computer, gets clearance, and
walks down a different passage.
Twenty minutes later, she is standing in the airlock, performing the ritualized rundown on suit
and helmet.
Then the outer lock-cycles open; she steps forward; hooks her lifeline to the ring next to the
lock, and - tumbles. Tumbles, soars, swirls, careens - exults!
All the work, all the training, all the boredom and discomfort - this is what it was all about -
weightless, free, in love with the universe in the glory of space!
Two steps forward, one step sideways. A different 2079. The collapse never quite happened.
Instead, the practical application of nuclear fusion power led to a global economy based on unlimited
energy. After a period of wildly unpredictable social, political and economic upheavals, the world settled
down to the experience of total automated affluence. Computerized planning of servo-mechanism
production and distribution systems and the development of recyclable biodegradable synthetics now
make it possible for 95 per cent of the planet's population to live out their lives as luxury consumers. In
fact, the declining death rate (the result of computerized diagnostics and universal preventive medical care
delivery) has people packed so tightly over the earth's surface, there is literally no work space available,
except for an elite corps of computer attendants and programmers.
The good news is that the birth rate is finally falling as fast as the death rate, due to the increasing
tendency of the consumers to automate their leisure time as well.
Zelda reclines in her contoured massagecouch. She has just experienced a hard-fought victory
in the world chess championships. Triumphantly, she flicks channels, rejects folksingers and
helicopter-racing options, is tempted by a new experimental religious ecstasy program. Then she
opts for Lady Of The Lagoon. (She has always thought of herself as basically an outdoor type.)
Green leaves rustle in the gentle breeze of her sylvan bower, touching her sun-warmed skin