"Kim Stanley Robinson - Mars 3 - Green Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

Hiroko put them in three of the newly mature treehouses. They climbed the staircases spiraling up the
outsides of the fat round shoots, exclaiming at the cylindrical segments with their doors and windows cut
into them. Hiroko put them to work finishing construction on new rooms, and building a new greenhouse
at the edge of the village. It was obvious to all that Zygote was not growing as much food as they now
needed. The kids ate as modestly as they could, imitating the adults. “Should have called the place
Gamete,” Coyote said to Hiroko on his next time through, laughing harshly.

She only waved him away. But perhaps worry accounted for Hiroko’s more distant air. She spent all her
days in the greenhouses at work, and seldom taught the children anymore. When she did they only
followed her around and worked for her, harvesting or turning compost or weeding. “She doesn’t care
about us,” Dao said angrily one afternoon as they walked down the beach. He directed his complaint at
Nirgal. “She isn’t really our mother anyway.” He led them all to the labs by the tunnel hill greenhouse,
chivvying them along as he could so well.

Inside he pointed to a row of fat magnesium tanks, something like refrigerators. “Those are our mothers.
That’s what we were grown inside. Kasei told me, and I asked Hiroko and it’s true. We’re ectogenes.
We weren’t bom, we were decanted.” He glared triumphantly at his frightened, fascinated little band;
then he struck Nir-gal full on the chest with his fist, knocking Nirgal clear across the lab, and left with a
curse. “We don’t have parents.”



Extra visitors were a burden now, but still when they came there was a lot of excitement, and many
people stayed up most of the first night of a visit, talking, getting all the news they could of the other
sanctuaries. There was a whole network of these in the south polar region; Nirgal had a map in his
lectern, with red dots to show all thirty-four. And Nadia and Hiroko guessed that there were more, in
other networks to the north, or in complete isolation. But as they all kept radio silence, there was no way
to be sure. So news was at a premium—it was usually the most precious thing that visitors had, even if
they came laden with gifts, which they usually did, giving out whatever they had managed to make or
obtain that their hosts would find useful.
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During these visits Nirgal would listen hard to the nights’ long animated conversations, sitting on the floor
or wandering and re-’ filling people’s teacups. He felt acutely that he did not understand the rules of the
world; it was inexplicable to him why people acted as they did. Of course he did understand the basic
fact of the situation—that there were two sides, locked in a contest for control of Mars—that Zygote
was the leader for the side that was right— and that eventually the areophany would triumph. It was a
tremendous feeling to be involved in that struggle, to be a crucial part of the story, and it often left him
sleepless when he dragged off to bed, his mind dancing through to dawn with visions of all he would
contribute to this great drama, amazing Jackie and everyone else in Zygote.

Sometimes, in his desire to learn more, he even eavesdropped. He did it by lying on a couch in the
comer and staring at a lectern, doodling or pretending to read. Quite often people elsewhere in the room
didn’t realize he was listening, and sometimes they would even talk about the children of Zygote—mostly
when he was actually skulking out in the hall.

“Have you noticed most of them are left-handed?”