Nancy Kress - Beggars 1 - Beggars in Spain

VIP免费

2024-12-22 0 0 126.27KB 39 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

======================

Beggars in Spain

by Nancy Kress

======================

First published in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, April 1991

Fictionwise Contemporary

Science Fiction

Winner of both the Hugo and Nebula Awards

---------------------------------

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the purchaser. If you did not

purchase this ebook directly from Fictionwise.com then you are in violation of copyright law and

are subject to severe fines. Please visit www.fictionwise.com to purchase a legal copy.

Fictionwise.com offers a reward for information leading to the conviction of copyright violators

of Fictionwise ebooks.

---------------------------------

ONE

THEY SAT STIFFLY on his antique Eames chairs, two people who didn't want to be here, or one

person who didn't want to and one who resented the other's reluctance. Dr. Ong had seen this

before. Within two minutes he was sure: the woman was the silently furious resister. She would

lose. The man would pay for it later, in little ways, for a long time.

"I presume you've performed the necessary credit checks already," Roger Camden said

pleasantly, "so let's get right on to details, shall we, Doctor?"

"Certainly," Ong said. "Why don't we start by your telling me all the genetic modifications

you're interested in for the baby."

The woman shifted suddenly on her chair. She was in her late twenties -- clearly a second

wife -- but already had a faded look, as if keeping up with Roger Camden was wearing her out. Ong

could easily believe that. Mrs. Camden's hair was brown, her eyes were brown, her skin had a brown

tinge that might have been pretty if her cheeks had had any color. She wore a brown coat, neither

fashionable nor cheap, and shoes that looked vaguely orthopedic. Ong glanced at his records for

her name: Elizabeth. He would bet people forgot it often.

Next to her, Roger Camden radiated nervous vitality, a man in late middle age whose bullet-

shaped head did not match his careful haircut and Italian-silk business suit. Ong did not need to

consult his file to recall anything about Camden. A caricature of the bullet-shaped head had been

the leading graphic for yesterday's online edition of the Wall Street journal: Camden had led a

major coup in cross-border data-atoll investment. Ong was not sure what cross-border data-atoll

investment was.

"A girl," Elizabeth Camden said. Ong hadn't expected her to speak first. Her voice was

another surprise: upper-class British. "Blonde. Green eyes. Tall. Slender."

Ong smiled. "Appearance factors are the easiest to achieve, as I'm sure you already know.

But all we can do about slenderness is give her a genetic disposition in that direction. How you

feed the child will naturally -- "

"Yes, yes," Roger Camden said, "that's obvious. Now: intelligence. _High_ intelligence. And

a sense of daring."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Camden, personality factors are not yet understood well enough to allow

genet -- "

"Just testing," Camden said, with a smile that Ong thought was probably supposed to be

lighthearted.

Elizabeth Camden said, "Musical ability."

"Again, Mrs. Camden, a disposition to be musical is all we can guarantee."

"Good enough," Camden said. "The full array of corrections for any potential gene-linked

health problem, of course."

"Of course," Dr. Ong said. Neither client spoke. So far theirs was a fairly modest list,

given Camden's money; most clients had to be argued out of contradictory genetic tendencies,

alteration overload, or unrealistic expectations. Ong waited. Tension prickled in the room like

heat.

"And," Camden said, "no need to sleep."

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (1 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

Elizabeth Camden jerked her head sideways to look out the window.

Ong picked up a paper magnet from his desk. He made his voice pleasant. "May I ask how you

learned whether that genetic-modification program exists?"

Camden grinned. "You're not denying it exists. I give you full credit for that, Doctor."

Ong held his temper. "May I ask how you learned whether the program exists?"

Camden reached into an inner pocket of his suit. The silk crinkled and pulled; body and

suit came from different classes. Camden was, Ong remembered, a Yagaiist, a personal friend of

Kenzo Yagai himself. Camden handed Ong hard copy: program specifications.

"Don't bother hunting down the security leak in your data banks, Doctor. You won't find it.

But if it's any consolation, neither will anybody else. Now." He leaned forward suddenly. His tone

changed. "I know that you've created twenty children who don't need to sleep at all, that so far

nineteen are healthy, intelligent, and psychologically normal. In fact, they're better than

normal; they're all unusually precocious. The oldest is already four years old and can read in two

languages. I know you're thinking of offering this genetic modification on the open market in a

few years. All I want is a chance to buy it for my daughter now. At whatever price you name."

Ong stood. "I can't possibly discuss this with you unilaterally, Mr. Camden. Neither the

theft of our data -- "

"Which wasn't a theft -- your system developed a spontaneous bubble regurgitation into a

public gate. You'd have a hell of a time proving otherwise -- "

" -- _nor_ the offer to purchase this particular genetic modification lie in my sole area

of authority. Both have to be discussed with the Institute's board of directors."

"By all means, by all means. When can I talk to them, too?"

"You?"

Camden, still seated, looked up at him. It occurred to Ong that there were few men who

could look so confident eighteen inches below eye level. "Certainly. I'd like the chance to

present my offer to whoever has the actual authority to accept it. That's only good business."

"This isn't solely a business transaction, Mr. Camden."

"It isn't solely pure scientific research, either," Camden retorted. "You're a for-profit

corporation here. _With_ certain tax breaks available only to firms meeting certain fair-practice

laws."

For a minute Ong couldn't think what Camden meant. "Fair-practice laws ..."

"... are designed to protect minorities who are suppliers. I know it hasn't ever been

tested in the case of customers, except for redlining in Y-energy installations. But it could be

tested, Dr. Ong. Minorities are entitled to the same product offerings as non-minorities. I know

the Institute would not welcome a court case, Doctor. None of your twenty genetic beta-test

families is either Black or Jewish!"

"A court ... but you're not Black _or_ Jewish!"

"I'm a different minority. Polish-American. The name was Kaminsky." Camden finally stood.

And smiled warmly. "Look, it is preposterous. You know that, and I know that, and we both know

what a grand time journalists would have with it anyway. And you know that I don't want to sue you

with a preposterous case just to use the threat of premature and adverse publicity to get what I

want. I don't want to make threats at all, believe me I don't. I just want this marvelous

advancement you've come up with for my daughter." His face changed, to an expression Ong wouldn't

have believed possible on those particular features: wistfulness. "Doctor, do you know how much

more I could have accomplished if I hadn't had to _sleep_ all my life?"

Elizabeth Camden said harshly, "You hardly sleep now."

Camden looked down at her as if he had forgotten she was there. "Well, no, my dear, not

now. But when I was young ... college, I might have been able to finish college and still support

... Well. None of that matters now. What matters, Doctor, is that you and I and your board come to

an agreement."

"Mr. Camden, please leave my office now."

"You mean before you lose your temper at my presumptuousness? You wouldn't be the first.

I'll expect to have a meeting set up by the end of next week, whenever and wherever you say, of

course. Just let my personal secretary, Diane Clavers, know the details. Anytime that's best for

you."

Ong did not accompany them to the door. Pressure throbbed behind his temples. In the

doorway Elizabeth Camden turned. "What happened to the twentieth one?"

"What?"

"The twentieth baby. My husband said nineteen of them are healthy and normal. What happened

to the twentieth?"

The pressure grew stronger, hotter. Ong knew that he should not answer; that Camden

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (2 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

probably already knew the answer even if his wife didn't; that he, Ong, was going to answer

anyway; that he would regret the lack of self-control, bitterly, later.

"The twentieth baby is dead. His parents turned out to be unstable. They separated during

the pregnancy, and his mother could not bear the twenty-four-hour crying of a baby who never

sleeps."

Elizabeth Camden's eyes widened. "She killed it?"

"By mistake," Camden said shortly. "Shook the little thing too hard." He frowned at Ong.

"Nurses, Doctor. In shifts. You should have picked only parents wealthy enough to afford nurses in

shifts."

"That's horrible!" Mrs. Camden burst out, and Ong could not tell if she meant the child's

death, the lack of nurses, or the Institute's carelessness. Ong closed his eyes.

When they had gone, he took ten milligrams of cyclobenzaprine-III. For his back -- it was

solely for his back. The old injury was hurting again. Afterward he stood for a long time at the

window, still holding the paper magnet, feeling the pressure recede from his temples, feeling

himself calm down. Below him Lake Michigan lapped peacefully at the shore; the police had driven

away the homeless in another raid just last night, and they hadn't yet had time to return. Only

their debris remained, thrown into the bushes of the lakeshore park: tattered blankets,

newspapers, plastic bags like pathetic trampled standards. It was illegal to sleep in the park,

illegal to enter it without a resident's permit, illegal to be homeless and without a residence.

As Ong watched, uniformed park attendants began methodically spearing newspapers and shoving them

into clean self-propelled receptacles.

Ong picked up the phone to call the chairman of Biotech Institute's board of directors.

* * * *

Four men and three women sat around the polished mahogany table of the conference room. _Doctor,

lawyer, Indian chief,_ thought Susan Melling, looking from Ong to Sullivan to Camden. She smiled.

Ong caught the smile and looked frosty. Pompous ass. Judy Sullivan, the Institute lawyer, turned

to speak in a low voice to Camden's lawyer, a thin nervous man with the look of being owned. The

owner, Roger Camden, the Indian chief himself, was the happiest-looking person in the room. The

lethal little man -- what did it take to become that rich, starting from nothing? She, Susan,

would certainly never know -- radiated excitement. He beamed, he glowed, so unlike the usual

parents-to-be that Susan was intrigued. Usually the prospective daddies and mommies -- especially

the daddies -- sat there looking as if they were at a corporate merger. Camden looked as if he

were at a birthday party.

Which, of course, he was. Susan grinned at him, and was pleased when he grinned back.

Wolfish, but with a sort of delight that could only be called innocent -- what would he be like in

bed? Ong frowned majestically and rose to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we're ready to start. Perhaps introductions are in order.

Mr. Roger Camden, Mrs. Camden, are of course our clients. Mr. John Jaworski, Mr. Camden's lawyer.

Mr. Camden, this is Judith Sullivan, the Institute's head of Legal; Samuel Krenshaw, representing

Institute Director Dr. Brad Marsteiner, who unfortunately couldn't be here today; and Dr. Susan

Melling, who developed the genetic modification affecting sleep. A few legal points of interest to

both parties -- "

"Forget the contracts for a minute," Camden interrupted. "Let's talk about the sleep thing.

I'd like to ask a few questions."

Susan said, "What would you like to know?" Camden's eyes were very blue in his blunt-

featured face; he wasn't what she had expected. Mrs. Camden, who apparently lacked both a first

name and a lawyer, since Jaworski had been introduced as her husband's but not hers, looked either

sullen or scared, it was difficult to tell which.

Ong said sourly, "Then perhaps we should start with a short presentation by Dr. Melling."

Susan would have preferred a Q&A, to see what Camden would ask. But she had annoyed Ong

enough for one session. Obediently she rose.

"Let me start with a brief description of sleep. Researchers have known for a long time

that there are actually three kinds of sleep. One is 'slow-wave sleep,' characterized on an EEG by

delta waves. One is 'rapid-eye-movement sleep,' or REM sleep, which is much lighter sleep and

contains most dreaming. Together these two make up 'core sleep.' The third type of sleep is

'optional sleep,' so-called because people seem to get along without it with no ill effects, and

some short sleepers don't do it at all, sleeping naturally only three or four hours a night."

"That's me," Camden said. "I trained myself into it. Couldn't everybody do that?"

Apparently they were going to have a Q&A after all. "No. The actual sleep mechanism has

some flexibility, but not the same amount for every person. The raphe nuclei on the brain stem --

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (3 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

Ong said, "I don't think we need that level of detail, Susan. Let's stick to basics."

Camden said, "The raphe nuclei regulate the balance among neurotransmitters and peptides

that leads to a pressure to sleep, don't they?"

Susan couldn't help it; she grinned. Camden, the laser-sharp ruthless financier, sat trying

to look solemn, a third-grader waiting to have his homework praised. Ong looked sour. Mrs. Camden

looked away, out the window.

"Yes, that's correct, Mr. Camden. You've done your research."

Camden said, "This is my _daughter_," and Susan caught her breath. When was the last time

she had heard that note of reverence in anyone's voice? But no one in the room seemed to notice.

"Well, then," Susan said, "you already know that the reason people sleep is because a

pressure to sleep builds up in the brain. Over the past twenty years, research has determined

that's the _only_ reason. Neither slow-wave sleep nor REM sleep serve functions that can't be

carried on while the body and brain are awake. A lot goes on during sleep, but it can go on during

wakefulness just as well, if other hormonal adjustments are made.

"Sleep served an important evolutionary function. Once Clem Pre-Mammal was done filling his

stomach and squirting his sperm around, sleep kept him immobile and away from predators. Sleep was

an aid to survival. But now it's a leftover mechanism, a vestige like the appendix. It switches on

every night, but the need is gone. So we turn off the switch at its source, in the genes."

Ong winced. He hated it when she oversimplified like that. Or maybe it was the

lightheartedness he hated. If Marsteiner were making this presentation, there'd be no Clem Pre-

Mammal.

Camden said, "What about the need to dream?"

"Not necessary. A leftover bombardment of the cortex to keep it on semi-alert in case a

predator attacked during sleep. Wakefulness does that better."

"Why not have wakefulness instead then? From the start of the evolution?"

He was testing her. Susan gave him a full, lavish smile, enjoying his brass. "I told you.

Safety from predators. But when a modern predator attacks -- say, a cross-border data-atoll

investor -- it's safer to be awake."

Camden shot at her, "What about the high percentage of REM sleep in fetuses and babies?"

"Still an evolutionary hangover. Cerebrum develops perfectly well without it."

"What about neural repair during slow-wave sleep?"

"That does go on. But it can go on during wakefulness, if the DNA is programmed to do so.

No loss of neural efficiency, as far as we know."

"What about the release of human growth enzyme in such large concentrations during slow-

wave sleep?"

Susan looked at him admiringly. "Goes on without the sleep. Genetic adjustments tie it to

other changes in the pineal gland."

"What about the -- "

"The _side effects?_" Mrs. Camden said. Her mouth turned down. "What about the bloody side

effects?"

Susan turned to Elizabeth Camden. She had forgotten she was there. The younger woman stared

at Susan, mouth turned down at the corners.

"I'm glad you asked that, Mrs. Camden. Because there are side effects." Susan paused; she

was enjoying herself. "Compared to their age mates, the nonsleep children -- who have _not_ had IQ

genetic manipulation -- are more intelligent, better at problem-solving, and more joyous."

Camden took out a cigarette. The archaic, filthy habit surprised Susan. Then she saw that

it was deliberate: Roger Camden was drawing attention to an ostentatious display to draw attention

away from what he was feeling. His cigarette lighter was gold, monogrammed, innocently gaudy.

"Let me explain," Susan said. "REM sleep bombards the cerebral cortex with random neural

firings from the brain stem; dreaming occurs because the poor besieged cortex tries so hard to

make sense of the activated images and memories. It spends a lot of energy doing that. Without

that energy expenditure, nonsleep cerebrums save the wear-and-tear and do better at coordinating

real-life input. Thus, greater intelligence and problem-solving.

"Also, doctors have known for sixty years that antidepressants, which lift the mood of

depressed patients, also suppress REM sleep entirely. What they have proved in the past ten years

is that the reverse is equally true: suppress REM sleep and people don't _get_ depressed. The

nonsleep kids are cheerful, outgoing ... _joyous_. There's no other word for it."

"At what cost?" Mrs. Camden said. She held her neck rigid, but the corners of her jaw

worked.

"No cost. No negative side effects at all."

"So far," Mrs. Camden shot back.

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (4 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

Susan shrugged. "So far."

"They're only four years old! At the most!"

Ong and Krenshaw were studying her closely. Susan saw the moment the Camden woman realized

it; she sank back into her chair, drawing her fur coat around her, her face blank.

Camden did not look at his wife. He blew a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Everything has costs,

Dr. Melling."

She liked the way he said her name. "Ordinarily, yes. Especially in genetic modification.

But we honestly have not been able to find any here, despite looking." She smiled directly into

Camden's eyes. "Is it too much to believe that just once the universe has given us something

wholly good, wholly a step forward, wholly beneficial? Without hidden penalties?"

"Not the universe. The intelligence of people like you," Camden said, surprising Susan more

than anything else that had gone before. His eyes held hers. She felt her chest tighten.

"I think," Dr. Ong said dryly, "that the philosophy of the universe may be beyond our

concerns here. Mr. Camden, if you have no further medical questions, perhaps we can return to the

legal points Ms. Sullivan and Mr. Jaworski have raised. Thank you, Dr. Melling."

Susan nodded. She didn't look again at Camden. But she knew what he said, how he looked,

that he was there.

* * * *

The house was about what she had expected, a huge mock-Tudor on Lake Michigan north of Chicago.

The land was heavily wooded between the gate and the house, open between the house and the surging

water. Patches of snow dotted the dormant grass. Biotech had been working with the Camdens for

four months, but this was the first time Susan had driven to their home.

As she walked toward the house another car drove up behind her. No, a truck, continuing

around the curved driveway to a service entry at the side of the house. One man rang the service

bell; a second began to unload a plastic-wrapped playpen from the back of the truck. White, with

pink and yellow bunnies. Susan briefly closed her eyes.

Camden opened the door himself. She could see his effort not to look worried. "You didn't

have to drive out, Susan; I'd have come into the city!"

"No, I didn't want you to do that, Roger. Mrs. Camden is here?"

"In the living room." Camden led her into a large room with a stone fireplace, English

country-house furniture, and prints of dogs or boats, all hung eighteen inches too high; Elizabeth

Camden must have done the decorating. She did not rise from her wing chair as Susan entered.

"Let me be concise and fast," Susan said, "I don't want to make this any more drawn-out for

you than I have to. We have all the amniocentesis, ultrasound, and Langston test results. The

fetus is fine, developing normally for two weeks, no problems with the implant on the uterine

wall. But a complication has developed."

"What?" Camden said. He took out a cigarette, looked at his wife, and put it back unlit.

Susan said quietly, "Mrs. Camden, by sheer chance both your ovaries released eggs last

month. We removed one for the gene surgery. By more sheer chance the second was fertilized and

implanted. You're carrying two fetuses."

Elizabeth Camden grew still. "Twins?"

"No," Susan said. Then she realized what she had said. "I mean, yes. They're twins, but non-

identical. Only one has been genetically altered. The other will be no more similar to her than

any two siblings. It's a so-called normal baby. And I know you didn't want a so-called normal

baby."

Camden said, "No. I didn't."

Elizabeth Camden said, "I did."

Camden shot her a fierce look that Susan couldn't read. He took out the cigarette again,

and lit it. His face was in profile to Susan, and he was thinking intently; she doubted he knew

the cigarette was there, or that he was lighting it. "Is the baby being affected by the other

one's being there?"

"No," Susan said. "No, of course not. They're just ... coexisting."

"Can you abort it?"

"Not without aborting both of them. Removing the unaltered fetus would cause changes in the

uterine lining that would probably lead to a spontaneous miscarriage of the other." She drew a

deep breath. "There's that option, of course. We can start the whole process over again. But as I

told you at the time, you were very lucky to have the _in vitro_ fertilization take on only the

second try. Some couples take eight or ten tries. If we started all over, the process could be a

lengthy one."

Camden said, "Is the presence of this second fetus harming my daughter? Taking away

nutrients or anything? Or will it change anything for her later on in the pregnancy?"

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (5 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

"No. Except that there is a chance of premature birth. Two fetuses take up a lot more room

in the womb, and if it gets too crowded, birth can be premature. But the -- "

"How premature? Enough to threaten survival?"

"Most probably not."

Camden went on smoking. A man appeared at the door. "Sir, London calling. James Kendall for

Mr. Yagai."

"I'll take it." Camden rose. Susan watched him study his wife's face. When he spoke, it was

to her. "All right, Elizabeth. All right." He left the room.

For a long moment the two women sat in silence. Susan was aware of the disappointment; this

was not the Camden she had expected to see. She became aware of Elizabeth Camden watching her with

amusement.

"Oh, yes, Doctor. He's like that."

Susan said nothing.

"Completely overbearing. But not this time." She laughed softly, with excitement. "Two. Do

you ... do you know what sex the other one is?"

"Both fetuses are female."

"I wanted a girl, you know. And now I'll have one."

"Then you'll go ahead with the pregnancy."

"Oh, yes. Thank you for coming, Doctor."

She was dismissed. No one saw her out. But as she was getting into her car, Camden rushed

out of the house, coatless. "Susan! I wanted to thank you. For coming all the way out here to tell

us yourself."

"You already thanked me."

"Yes. Well. You're sure the second fetus is no threat to my daughter?"

Susan said deliberately, "Nor is the genetically altered fetus a threat to the naturally

conceived one."

He smiled. His voice was low and wistful. "And you think that should matter to me just as

much. But it doesn't. And why should I fake what I feel? Especially to you?"

Susan opened her car door. She wasn't ready for this, or she had changed her mind, or

something. But then Camden leaned over to close the door, and his manner held no trace of

flirtatiousness, no smarmy ingratiation. "I better order a second playpen."

"Yes."

"And a second car seat."

"Yes."

"But not a second night-shift nurse."

"That's up to you."

"And you." Abruptly he leaned over and kissed her, a kiss so polite and respectful that

Susan was shocked. Neither lust nor conquest would have shocked her; this did. Camden didn't give

her a chance to react; he closed the car door and turned back toward the house. Susan drove toward

the gate, her hands shaky on the wheel until amusement replaced shock: It _had_ been a deliberate,

blatant, respectful kiss, an engineered enigma. And nothing else could have guaranteed so well

that there would have to be another.

She wondered what the Camdens would name their daughters.

* * * *

Dr. Ong strode the hospital corridor, which had been dimmed to half-light. From the nurse's

station in Maternity a nurse stepped forward as if to stop him -- it was the middle of the night,

long past visiting hours -- got a good look at his face, and faded back into her station. Around a

corner was the viewing glass to the nursery. To Ong's annoyance, Susan Melling stood pressed

against the glass. To his further annoyance, she was crying.

Ong realized that he had never liked the woman. Maybe not any women. Even those with

superior minds could not seem to refrain from being made damn fools by their emotions.

"Look," Susan said, laughing a little, swiping at her face. "Doctor -- _look_."

Behind the glass Roger Camden, gowned and masked, was holding up a baby in a white

undershirt and pink blanket. Camden's blue eyes -- theatrically blue -- a man really should not

have such garish eyes -- glowed. The baby's head was covered with blond fuzz; it had wide eyes and

pink skin. Camden's eyes above the mask said that no other child had ever had these attributes.

Ong said, "An uncomplicated birth?"

"Yes," Susan Melling sobbed. "Perfectly straightforward. Elizabeth is fine. She's asleep.

Isn't she beautiful? He has the most adventurous spirit I've ever known." She wiped her nose on

her sleeve; Ong realized that she was drunk. "Did I ever tell you that I was engaged once? Fifteen

years ago, in med school? I broke it off because he grew to seem so ordinary, so boring. Oh, God,

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (6 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

I shouldn't be telling you all this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Ong moved away from her. Behind the glass Roger Camden laid the baby in a small wheeled

crib. The nameplate said BABY GIRL CAMDEN #1. 5.9 POUNDS. A night nurse watched indulgently.

Ong did not wait to see Camden emerge from the nursery or to hear Susan Melling say to him

whatever she was going to say. Ong went to have the OB paged. Melling's report was not, under the

circumstances, to be trusted. A perfect, unprecedented chance to record every detail of gene

alteration with a non-altered control, and Melling was more interested in her own sloppy emotions.

Ong would obviously have to do the report himself, after talking to the OB. He was hungry for

every detail. And not just about the pink-cheeked baby in Camden's arms. He wanted to know

everything about the birth of the child in the other glass-sided crib: BABY GIRL CAMDEN #2. 5.1

POUNDS. The dark-haired baby with the mottled red features, lying scrunched down in her pink

blanket, asleep.

TWO

LEISHA'S EARLIEST MEMORY was flowing lines that were not there. She knew they were not

there because when she reached out her fist to touch them, her fist was empty. Later she realized

that the flowing lines were light: sunshine slanting in bars between curtains in her room, between

the wooden blinds in the dining room, between the crisscross lattices in the conservatory. The day

she realized the golden flow was light she laughed out loud with the sheer joy of discovery, and

Daddy turned from putting flowers in pots and smiled at her.

The whole house was full of light. Light bounded off the lake, streamed across the high

white ceilings, puddled on the shining wooden floors. She and Alice moved continually through

light, and sometimes Leisha would stop and tip back her head and let it flow over her face. She

could feel it, like water.

The best light, of course, was in the conservatory. That's where Daddy liked to be when he

was home from making money. Daddy potted plants and watered trees, humming, and Leisha and Alice

ran between the wooden tables of flowers with their wonderful earthy smells, running from the dark

side of the conservatory where the big purple flowers grew to the sunshine side with sprays of

yellow flowers, running back and forth, in and out of the light. "Growth," Daddy said to her,

"flowers all fulfilling their promise. Alice, be careful! You almost knocked over that orchid!"

Alice, obedient, would stop running for a while. Daddy never told Leisha to stop running.

After a while the light would go away. Alice and Leisha would have their baths, and then

Alice would get quiet, or cranky. She wouldn't play nice with Leisha, even when Leisha let her

choose the game or even have all the best dolls. Then Nanny would take Alice to bed, and Leisha

would talk with Daddy some more until Daddy said he had to work in his study with the papers that

made money. Leisha always felt a moment of regret that he had to go do that, but the moment never

lasted very long because Mamselle would arrive and start Leisha's lessons, which she liked.

Learning things was so interesting! She could already sing twenty songs and write all the letters

in the alphabet and count to fifty. And by the time lessons were done, the light had come back,

and it was time for breakfast.

Breakfast was the only time Leisha didn't like. Daddy had gone to the office, and Leisha

and Alice had breakfast with Mommy in the big dining room. Mommy sat in a red robe, which Leisha

liked, and she didn't smell funny or talk funny the way she would later in the day, but still

breakfast wasn't fun. Mommy always started with The Question.

"Alice, sweetheart, how did you sleep?"

"Fine, Mommy."

"Did you have any nice dreams?"

For a long time Alice said no. Then one day she said, "I dreamed about a horse. I was

riding him." Mommy clapped her hands and kissed Alice and gave her an extra sticky bun. After that

Alice always had a dream to tell Mommy.

Once Leisha said, "I had a dream, too. I dreamed light was coming in the window and it

wrapped all around me like a blanket and then it kissed me on my eyes."

Mommy put down her coffee cup so hard that coffee sloshed out of it. "Don't lie to me,

Leisha. You did not have a dream."

"Yes, I did," Leisha said.

"Only children who sleep can have dreams. Don't lie to me. You did not have a dream."

"Yes I did! I did!" Leisha shouted. She could see it, almost: the light streaming in the

window and wrapping around her like a golden blanket.

"I will not tolerate a child who is a liar! Do you hear me, Leisha -- I won't tolerate it!"

"You're a liar!" Leisha shouted, knowing the words weren't true, hating herself because

they weren't true but hating Mommy more and that was wrong, too, and there sat Alice stiff and

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (7 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt

frozen with her eyes wide, Alice was scared and it was Leisha's fault.

Mommy called sharply, "Nanny! Nanny! Take Leisha to her room at once. She can't sit with

civilized people if she can't refrain from telling lies!"

Leisha started to cry. Nanny carried her out of the room. Leisha hadn't even had her

breakfast. But she didn't care about that; all she could see while she cried was Alice's eyes,

scared like that, reflecting broken bits of light.

But Leisha didn't cry long. Nanny read her a story, and then played Data Jump with her, and

then Alice came up and Nanny drove them both into Chicago to the zoo where there were wonderful

animals to see, animals Leisha could not have dreamed -- nor Alice _either_. And by the time they

came back Mommy had gone to her room and Leisha knew that she would stay there with the glasses of

funny-smelling stuff the rest of the day and Leisha would not have to see her.

But that night, she went to her mother's room.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she told Mamselle. Mamselle said, "Do you need any help?"

maybe because Alice still needed help in the bathroom. But Leisha didn't, and she thanked

Mamselle. Then she sat on the toilet for a minute even though nothing came, so that what she had

told Mamselle wouldn't be a lie.

Leisha tiptoed down the hall. She went first into Alice's room. A little light in a wall

socket burned near the crib. There was no crib in Leisha's room. Leisha looked at her sister

through the bars. Alice lay on her side with her eyes closed. The lids of the eyes fluttered

quickly, like curtains blowing in the wind. Alice's chin and neck looked loose.

Leisha closed the door very carefully and went to her parents' room.

They didn't sleep in a crib but in a huge enormous bed, with enough room between them for

more people. Mommy's eyelids weren't fluttering; she lay on her back making a hrrr-hrrr sound

through her nose. The funny smell was strong on her. Leisha backed away and tiptoed over to Daddy.

He looked like Alice, except that his neck and chin looked even looser, folds of skin collapsed

like the tent that had fallen down in the back yard. It scared Leisha to see him like that. Then

Daddy's eyes flew open so suddenly that Leisha screamed.

Daddy rolled out of bed and picked her up, looking quickly at Mommy. But she didn't move.

Daddy was wearing only his underpants. He carried Leisha out into the hall, where Mamselle came

rushing up saying, "Oh, Sir, I'm sorry, she just said she was going to the bathroom -- "

"It's all right," Daddy said. "I'll take her with me."

"No!" Leisha screamed, because Daddy was only in his underpants and his neck had looked all

funny and the room smelled bad because of Mommy. But Daddy carried her into the conservatory, set

her down on a bench, wrapped himself in a piece of green plastic that was supposed to cover up

plants, and sat down next to her.

"Now, what happened, Leisha? What were you doing?"

Leisha didn't answer.

"You were looking at people sleeping, weren't you?" Daddy said, and because his voice was

softer Leisha mumbled, "Yes." She immediately felt better; it felt good not to lie.

"You were looking at people sleeping because you don't sleep and you were curious, weren't

you? Like Curious George in your book?"

"Yes," Leisha said. "I thought you said you made money in your study all night!"

Daddy smiled. "Not all night. Some of it. But then I sleep, although not very much." He

took Leisha on his lap. "I don't need much sleep, so I get a lot more done at night than most

people. Different people need different amounts of sleep. And a few, a very few, are like you. You

don't need any."

"Why not?"

"Because you're special. Better than other people. Before you were born, I had some doctors

help make you that way."

"Why?"

"So you could do anything you want to and make manifest your own individuality."

Leisha twisted in his arms to stare at him; the words meant nothing. Daddy reached over and

touched a single flower growing on a tall potted tree. The flower had thick white petals like the

cream he put in coffee, and the center was a light pink.

"See, Leisha -- this tree made this flower. Because it _can_. Only this tree can make this

kind of wonderful flower. That plant hanging up there can't, and those can't either. Only this

tree. Therefore the most important thing in the world for this tree to do is grow this flower. The

flower is the tree's individuality -- that means just _it_, and nothing else -- made manifest.

Nothing else matters."

"I don't understand, Daddy."

"You will. Someday."

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D.../Nancy%20Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt (8 of 39) [2/24/2004 10:58:44 PM]

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/New%20Folder/Nancy%2\0Kress%20-%20Beggars%20in%20Spain.txt======================BeggarsinSpainbyNancyKress======================Copyright(c)1991NancyKressFirstpublishedinIsaacAsimov'sScienceFictionMagazine,April1991FictionwiseContemporaryScienceFic...

展开>> 收起<<

Nancy Kress - Beggars 1 - Beggars in Spain.pdf

共39页,预览8页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Nancy Kress - Beggars 1 - Beggars in Spain

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: