[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
that. Arthur admires you, Bill. He's one of those saying you should be
President."
And why not? Beckett thought. A President in the family can be a powerful
career advantage for a military officer.
"I love you, Bill," Marge said. And the girls squealing behind her: "Tell
him about . . ."
Again, it was lost, whatever the girls wanted told, as Marge said she would
save the rest of it until he arrived. Then: "Oh, girls! All right! They
want me to tell you about all the men who're courting them, but they're too
young. They'll have to wait until they're at least fifteen. And that's
final!"
He was going home to a very different world than the one he had left, Beckett
realized.
And so was Joe.
Poor Hupp. His dreams of being a power broker dispensing the scientific
largesse with a careful hand -- all gone. A cruel awakening into this new
civilization.
"We are cows," Hupp had said.
This had brought shocked silence to the other members of The Team, all four of
them holding their last meeting, parting finally in the impersonal crockery,
tile and chromium of Huddersfield's main cafeteria. There had been much noisy
activity out beyond their corner table. Huddersfield had become a world
crossroads, every facility overloaded.
"Joe is upset because our old team is breaking up," Lepikov explained.
"Joe is right," Danzas said.
"You were not raised on the land as we were, Sergei," Hupp said. "You would
not understand about poor, dumb cows. You never walk up to your cow and abuse
it with your anger."
Danzas nodded sagely.
"You talk sweetly to your cow," Hupp said. "You feed it well. You brush it
and clean it and give it the best medical care. You treat it gently, but
firmly, just the way Stonar and his friends treat us. They know about cows.
When the cow's head is in the stanchion, you lock the head there. Then you
draw out the lovely, rich milk, being careful to strip out the last of the
milk at the end lest the poor creature get sick on what is left in it."
Beckett had recounted this to General Monk during the first part of the
flight, watching the amusement and speculation in the man's eyes. How was a
possible President of the United States taking to such an insight?
This was one cow who was going to be bullish, Beckett thought. After Monk
left him alone, Beckett began framing a campaign speech.
"We need a scientist in the White House. We need someone who knows the real
dangers facing our world. We need someone capable of assessing the true
nature of what our scientific laboratories produce."
Yes -- give them the idea that the plague might not have occurred had there
been a scientist President. That would do it.
"A woman for every man!"
Page 278
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
It was a good slogan and might be an attainable goal. The idea carried
dangerous undertones of ownership, though. Were women to be hostages to a
human future?
Hupp had been absolutely right about one thing: They need us, damn them!
There was mounting evidence that O'Neill had created more than he knew in that
crude laboratory of his. Now that people were once more moving about,
crossing the old borders and the new ones, diseases never before observed were
beginning to crop up. O'Neill had probably been a walking factory of
infections. They could trace his path by where the new diseases were
appearing.
God! One man had done this.
Was O'Neill still wandering insane in Ireland? It was possible. A form of
that primitive respect for madness had come over the Irish. They were
perfectly capable of harboring him, feeding and protecting him. The stories
coming out of Ireland could not be discounted -- rumors, myths. Cottagers
were putting out dishes of food the way they once had done for the Little
Folk. But now it was for the Madman. And the stories they told, and the
press repeating them:
"I heard this screaming at night. Away down in the vale it was and not a
human sound at all. It was the Madman sure! The milk I left out for him was
gone in the morning."
EPILOGUE
The objective of some who have proposed regulation of recombinant DNA research
is to use the power of government for the suppression of ideas that may
otherwise flow from such research. That would take us back to an era of
dogmatism from which mankind has only recently escaped. And it would be a
feckless task. In the long run, it is impossible to stand in the way of the
exploration of truth. Someone will learn, somewhere, sometime.
-- Philip Handler, President, National Academy of Science
Page 279 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
that. Arthur admires you, Bill. He's one of those saying you should be
President."
And why not? Beckett thought. A President in the family can be a powerful
career advantage for a military officer.
"I love you, Bill," Marge said. And the girls squealing behind her: "Tell
him about . . ."
Again, it was lost, whatever the girls wanted told, as Marge said she would
save the rest of it until he arrived. Then: "Oh, girls! All right! They
want me to tell you about all the men who're courting them, but they're too
young. They'll have to wait until they're at least fifteen. And that's
final!"
He was going home to a very different world than the one he had left, Beckett
realized.
And so was Joe.
Poor Hupp. His dreams of being a power broker dispensing the scientific
largesse with a careful hand -- all gone. A cruel awakening into this new
civilization.
"We are cows," Hupp had said.
This had brought shocked silence to the other members of The Team, all four of
them holding their last meeting, parting finally in the impersonal crockery,
tile and chromium of Huddersfield's main cafeteria. There had been much noisy
activity out beyond their corner table. Huddersfield had become a world
crossroads, every facility overloaded.
"Joe is upset because our old team is breaking up," Lepikov explained.
"Joe is right," Danzas said.
"You were not raised on the land as we were, Sergei," Hupp said. "You would
not understand about poor, dumb cows. You never walk up to your cow and abuse
it with your anger."
Danzas nodded sagely.
"You talk sweetly to your cow," Hupp said. "You feed it well. You brush it
and clean it and give it the best medical care. You treat it gently, but
firmly, just the way Stonar and his friends treat us. They know about cows.
When the cow's head is in the stanchion, you lock the head there. Then you
draw out the lovely, rich milk, being careful to strip out the last of the
milk at the end lest the poor creature get sick on what is left in it."
Beckett had recounted this to General Monk during the first part of the
flight, watching the amusement and speculation in the man's eyes. How was a
possible President of the United States taking to such an insight?
This was one cow who was going to be bullish, Beckett thought. After Monk
left him alone, Beckett began framing a campaign speech.
"We need a scientist in the White House. We need someone who knows the real
dangers facing our world. We need someone capable of assessing the true
nature of what our scientific laboratories produce."
Yes -- give them the idea that the plague might not have occurred had there
been a scientist President. That would do it.
"A woman for every man!"
Page 278
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
It was a good slogan and might be an attainable goal. The idea carried
dangerous undertones of ownership, though. Were women to be hostages to a
human future?
Hupp had been absolutely right about one thing: They need us, damn them!
There was mounting evidence that O'Neill had created more than he knew in that
crude laboratory of his. Now that people were once more moving about,
crossing the old borders and the new ones, diseases never before observed were
beginning to crop up. O'Neill had probably been a walking factory of
infections. They could trace his path by where the new diseases were
appearing.
God! One man had done this.
Was O'Neill still wandering insane in Ireland? It was possible. A form of
that primitive respect for madness had come over the Irish. They were
perfectly capable of harboring him, feeding and protecting him. The stories
coming out of Ireland could not be discounted -- rumors, myths. Cottagers
were putting out dishes of food the way they once had done for the Little
Folk. But now it was for the Madman. And the stories they told, and the
press repeating them:
"I heard this screaming at night. Away down in the vale it was and not a
human sound at all. It was the Madman sure! The milk I left out for him was
gone in the morning."
EPILOGUE
The objective of some who have proposed regulation of recombinant DNA research
is to use the power of government for the suppression of ideas that may
otherwise flow from such research. That would take us back to an era of
dogmatism from which mankind has only recently escaped. And it would be a
feckless task. In the long run, it is impossible to stand in the way of the
exploration of truth. Someone will learn, somewhere, sometime.
-- Philip Handler, President, National Academy of Science
Page 279 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]