Конец вечности
Life-Plotter
ItwasHarlan’spridethatwhenhecalculatedanM.N.C.,whenitwashishandthatcontrivedtheTouch,thedegreesoffreedomvanishedatonce,andtheChangetookplaceinstantly.
Voysaidsoftly,"Ithadbeenverybeautiful."
ThephrasegratedHarlan’sears,seemingtodetractfromthebeautyofhisownperformance."Iwouldn’tregret,"hesaid,"havingspacetravelbredoutofRealityaltogether."
"No?"saidVoy.
"Whatgoodisit?Itneverlastsmorethanamillenniumortwo.Peoplegettired.Theycomebackhomeandthecoloniesdieout.Thenafteranotherfourorfivemillennia,orfortyorfifty,theytryagainanditfailsagain.Itisawasteofhumaningenuityandeffort."
Voysaiddryly,"You’requiteaphilosopher."
Harlanflushed.Hethought:What’stheuseintalkingtoanyofthem?Hesaid,angrily,withasharpchangeofsubject,"WhatabouttheLife-Plotter?"
"Whatabouthim?"
"Wouldyoucheckwiththeman?Heoughttohavemadesomeprogressbynow."
TheSociologistletalookofdisapprovaldriftacrosshisface,asthoughtosay:You’retheimpatientone,aren’tyou?Aloudhesaid,"Comewithmeandlet’ssee."
ThenameplateontheofficedoorsaidNeronFeruque,whichstruckHarlan’seyeandmindbecauseofitsfaintsimilaritytoapairofrulersintheMediterraneanareaduringPrimitivetimes.(HisweeklydiscourseswithCooperhadsharpenedhisownpreoccupationwiththePrimitivealmostfeverishly.)
Theman,however,resembledneitherruler,asHarlanrecalledit.Hewasalmostcadaverouslylean,withskinstretchedtightlyoverahigh-bridgednose.
