"Stross, Charles - Ancient Of Days" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

"Ah, well, you do pick the easy ones, don't you?" Abruptly, Sue stood up and looked out the window. There was nobody outside. She flicked the lock on the door then turned and faced him. "Watch."
Slowly, her face began to flow. At first it simply looked as if she was relaxing, all her muscles slowly slackening: but gradually the process accelerated, until it was as if all the underlying tissue was falling away from the bones of her skull. Cheeks sagged then began to stretch as cartilaginous flaps brought her jawbone forwards. Eric watched, petrified, as her lips pulled away from her gums – "Stop it!" he hissed at her, glancing hastily at the door. "What do you think you're –"
Sue raised her hands to cover her face. "Don't worry," she said, "there's nobody about. I checked first, I swear it. Look, you asked me a question. That's your answer."
"Pardon?" Eric stood up and checked to make sure that there was nobody outside the window.
"It's a little-known fact that humans, ants – even us – share most of the same genes. What differentiates us is the homoeobox: a complex of genes which are, I guess, meta-genes. They control how, why, and when other genes are switched on or off; the flow of control in the genetic program, so to speak. What's the difference between a blood cell such as a lymphocyte, and a muscle cell? Or a neuron?"
She lowered her hands and Eric saw that her face was back to normal again. He smiled with embarrassed relief. "Please don't do that again in public. Someone, a student, could call at any time ..."
Sue shrugged. "They didn't. Look, what I'm getting at is this. The stuff Kristoph was looking at, it was all to do with research on mapping the homoeobox. Got that? The one section that tells a human foetus that it's to grow up into a human being and not a gorilla or a flatworm. We're not the only people working on it, but –"
Eric turned round. "I think I've heard enough. Will there be anyone in the office if we go there now? I mean, right now?"
"It's anyone's guess. Hey, what's the sudden hurry?"
Eric shook his head. "I've got a feeling that this could be bad. I think I know why Kristoph was sent to look through those files, and if I'm right it could be very serious indeed. In fact if they're doing what I think they're doing and we don't stop them right away those clowns could land us all in a real mess."
The department office was open but nobody was in when Sue and Eric arrived there. One of the word processors was switched on, and it looked as if whoever was using it could return at any moment. "Act as if this is something you do all the time," murmured Sue as she opened the unlocked filing cabinet drawer.
"Is there any particular reason why you think I wouldn't do that without being told?" asked Eric, standing behind her with a conspiratorial air.
"Not really," she remarked, slightly nettled; "you're blocking my light. Here, I think this is what we want." She opened the folder and turned over the contents. "Doctor MacLuhan, Suite Four, Geiger-DESY research foundation laboratories. What he's asking for – looks like a breakdown of one particular sequence, doesn't it?" She flicked more pages. "No, that was last month. This month ... applications with respect to polymorphism, phocomelia, regeneration –"
"That's it," said Eric. "Phocomelia, isn't that when, you know, like thalidomide –"
"Failure to develop limbs, yeah." Sue made a quick note of MacLuhan's address then slid the folder back in the cabinet. "I'll bet you anything you care to mention that this is what caught Her attention –"
She turned round. One of the departmental secretaries, a woman Sue recognised but couldn't put a name to, was standing in the doorway staring at her. "Hello," said the woman, "I thought you were off sick?"
Sue slid the drawer shut and smiled at her, then carefully turned the smile into a wince. "I was," she said: "I had a migraine." She rubbed her forehead. "You know. But professor Sampson wanted an address out of files so I figured –" she shrugged.
"Oh, that's quite all right," said the secretary, sitting down. She looked up at Eric, who was standing beside her desk with one hand behind his back. "Can I help you?" she asked brightly.
"It's okay," said Eric, "I'm with her." The woman nodded then turned back to her screen.
Sue beckoned surreptitiously, and Eric followed her out of the room. "What's that you've got in your hand?" she whispered once they were outside the door. Eric slowly brought it into view, then uncurled his fingers so that she could glimpse what he was holding. Then he dropped the lock-knife back into one of his jacket pockets and set off down the corridor at a brisk walk. Sue hurried to catch up. Eric, she thought grimly, you and I have got a lot of talking to do; but she also had a feeling that his caution might be justified. This was not a time for half-measures.

***

The orange glare of street lights filtered through the windows, casting a rippling shadow on the wallpaper above the bedstead as it passed through the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung motionless in the air. The bed was occupied: Kristoph lay on it, chain-smoking Benson and Hedges and staring at the ceiling. He was naked, and the sheets lay in tatters beneath him.
He sensed a presence nearby and tensed, then turned one eye towards the door. Helena was standing there, a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She, too, was naked, and smiling.
"What's so amusing?" asked Kris, in a language that he had used so little of late that it came haltingly to his tongue.
"It's nothing," she said, putting the glasses down beside the bed. "It just looked – I don't know. It was the cigarette that did it. I'm too used to looking at people through human eyes; seeing you as you are is – strange."
She climbed onto the bed and squatted, adopting a pose that would have been very uncomfortable if her joints had been of human articulation. Her long tongue lolled from one side of her mouth as she regarded him.
"I find it that way too." Kristoph couldn't pull his eyes away from her nakedness. "I had nearly forgotten what my own kind looked like, other than in a mirror."
"It's over now. You've found me." She reached out with uncanny agility and snagged a glass, then filled it from the bottle. It was a whisky glass and the bottle was red wine, but somehow such considerations seemed petty to Kristoph. The sensations, the tingling beneath his skin and the heat of his ardour, had taken him by surprise. Not an unpleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. It had been a long time since he had mated with another of his species, and he was astonished to discover that it was far more pleasant than he recalled. But then, he was of an age to be bonding, and such changes should be expected. Helena extended the glass to him and he took it: their hands stayed in contact for longer than was necessary simply to pass the wine.
"The waiting is over. I had almost given up hope of meeting one of my own age and predicament. That there could be others – " he shrugged. It was considered desirable among the weerde to form group relationships.
"At least we can continue the search together," she said, nestling up against him. "If in your wanderings you should meet anyone –"
"Hah." A short, barking cough that was the same in any language. "A sad fantasy. I thought my solitude was the product of my travels, and now that I've met you you think your loneliness the consequence of your stability! Is there no happy medium?"
Helena considered this for a while, then gulped back her entire glass in a single mouthful and said: "No." She extended a hand and Kristoph passed her a lit cigarette. "What do you suppose we should do? Settle here among the humans, or travel at large within their world in hope of finding partners before we fully come of age?"
"Neither seems very hopeful," Kristoph remarked. He sat up and leaned close to her, then fell silent. She nipped gently at his ear to get his attention.
"What of the woman who showed you into the office?" she asked. "The one who works for the University?"
"She's too young," said Kris. "And she is already living with another of us. It's strange how the young behave, isn't it?"
"They're closer to the humans than to us," Helena suggested. "Imagine if you were one of them, born in the past forty years. The Ancients go on about the dark history of our people, how we were foredoomed to live amongst those we mirror in the flesh and how dangerous it would be to invoke any kind of solution to our problems from outside – the universe is a dark and fearful mystery, shrouded in ancient death – yet the young, the young live with television and credit cards and research." With each of these words she lapsed back into english, for her primal tongue held no equivalents to them. "Everything they are raised with tells them that the Ancients speak nothing but senile nonsense. It is not merely that they have no respect for the Ancients, but that they speak a different tongue altogether. It is no longer possible for them to separate themselves from the humans –" she broke off.
Kristoph stubbed his cigarette out on the ash-tray beside the bed. "What did you just think of?" he asked.
Helena stared at him. Her eyes were huge and dark, with no visible whites around them. "I think that it would be a good idea to pay these two youngsters a visit," she said thoughtfully. "I would like to meet them. And besides, I have a certain sense that if we don't they might become embroiled in something that will not be good for them. What do you think?"
Kristoph threw his head back and poured a glass of wine between his sharp white teeth. "If you like," he said. "When shall we go?"
Helena twisted and rolled off the bed, then rose to a crouch. Her spine slowly began to straighten. "As soon as possible," she said, slurring as she fought to control her shifting vocal chords. "My sense of urgency is great ..."

***

As soon as the door swung open, Sue realised there was something wrong: it smells strange. "That was a lovely meal," said Eric, behind her. She held out a warning hand and entered the hallway, switching on the light as she did so.
"You can come on in," she said; "I just thought I smelled something ..."
"Gas?" he asked.
"You can't be too careful. But no, it wasn't gas."
She hung her coat up as he closed the front door, then she switched on the living room lights and walked straight in. "Hello," said the balding man with the gun, "did you enjoy your meal?"