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to those who could not find it in themselves to do it." Dasein cleared his throat. Here was the core of Santaroga's indictment against the outside. How did you use people? With dignity? Or did you tap their most basic functions for your own purposes? The outside began to appear more and more as a place of irritating emptiness and contrived blandishments. I'm really beginning to see things as a Santarogan, Dasein thought. There was a sense of victory in the thought. It was what he had set out to do as part of his job. Page 112 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "It isn't surprising," Piaget said, "to find the 'N-square' law from warfare being applied to advertising and politics -- other kinds of warfare, you see -- with no real conversion problem from one field to the other. Each has its concepts of concentration and exposure. The mathematics of differentials and predictions apply equally well, no matter the field of battle." Armies, Dasein thought. He focused on Piaget's moving lips, wondering suddenly how the subject had been changed to such a different field. Had Piaget done it deliberately? They'd been talking about Santaroga's blind side, its fears . . . "You've given me food for speculation," Piaget said. "I'm going to leave you alone for a while and see if I can come up with something constructive. There's a call bell at the head of your bed. The nurses are not on this floor, but one can be here quite rapidly in an emergency. They'll look in on you from time to time. Would you like something to read? May I send you anything?" Something constructive? Dasein wondered. What does he mean? "How about some copies of our valley newspaper?" Piaget asked. "Some writing paper and a pen," Dasein said. He hesitated, then: "And the papers -- yes." "Very well. Try to rest. You appear to be regaining some of your strength, but don't overdo it." Piaget turned, strode out of the room. -- red-baked Presently, a red-baked nurse bustled in with a stack of newspapers, a ruled tablet and a dark-green ballpoint pen. She deposited them on his nightstand, said: "Do you want your bed straightened?" "No, thanks." Dasein found his attention caught by her striking resemblance to Al Marden. "You're a Marden," he said. "So what else is new?" she asked and left him. Well, get her! Dasein thought. He glanced at the stack of newspapers, remembering his search through Santaroga for the paper's office. They had come to him so easily they'd lost some of their allure. He slipped out of bed, found his knees had lost some of their weakness. The canned food caught his eye. Dasein rummaged in the box, found an applesauce, ate it swiftly while the food still was redolent with Jaspers. Even as he ate, he hoped this would return him to that level of clarity and speed of thought he'd experienced at the bridge and, briefly, with Piaget. The applesauce eased his hunger, left him vaguely restless -- nothing else. Was it losing its kick? he wondered. Did it require more and more of the stuff each time? Or was he merely becoming acclimated? Hooked? He thought of Jenny pleading with him, cajoling. A consciousness fuel. What in the name of God had Santaroga discovered? Dasein stared out the window at the path of boundary hills visible through the trees. A fire somewhere beneath his field of view sent smoke spiraling above the ridge. Dasein stared at the smoke, feeling an oddly compulsive mysticism, a deeply primitive sensation about that unseen fire. There was a spirit signature written in the smoke, something out of his own genetic past. No fear accompanied the sensation. It was, instead, as though he had been reunited with some part of himself cut off since childhood. Pushing back at the surface of childhood, he thought. He realized then that a Santarogan did not cut off his primitive past; he contained it within a membranous understanding. Page 113 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html How far do I go in becoming a Santarogan before I turn back? he wondered. I have a duty to Selador and the ones who hired me. When do I make my break? The thought filled him with a deep revulsion against returning to the outside. But he had to do it. There was a thick feeling of nausea in his throat, a pounding ache at his temples. He thought of the irritant emptiness of the outside -- piecemeal debris of lives, egos with sham patches, a world almost devoid of anything to make the soul rise and soar. There was no substructure to life outside, he thought, no underlying sequence to tie it all together. There was only a shallow, glittering roadway signposted with flashy, hypnotic diversions. And behind the glitter -- only the bare board structure of props . . . and desolation. I can't go back, he thought. He turned to his bed, threw himself across it. My duty -- I must go back. What's happening to me? Have I waited too long? Had Piaget lied about the Jaspers effect? Dasein turned onto his back, threw an arm across his eyes. What was the chemical essence of Jaspers? Selador could be no help there; the stuff didn't travel. I knew that, Dasein thought. I knew it all along. He took his arm away from his eyes. No doubt of what he'd been doing: avoiding his own responsibility. Dasein looked at the doors in the wall facing him -- kitchen, lab . . . A sigh lifted his chest. Cheese would be the best carrier, he knew. It held the Jaspers essence longest. The lab . . . and some cheese. Dasein rang the bell at the head of his bed. A voice startled him, coming from directly behind his head: "Do you wish a nurse immediately?" Dasein turned, saw a speaker grill in the wall. "I'd . . . like some Jaspers cheese," he said. "Oh . . . Right away, sir." There was delight in that feminine voice no electronic reproduction could conceal. Presently, the red-haired nurse with the stamp of the Marden genes on her face shouldered her way into the room carrying a tray. She placed the tray atop the papers on Dasein's nightstand. "There you are, doctor," she said. "I brought you some crackers, too." "Thanks," Dasein said. She turned at the doorway before leaving: "Jenny will be delighted to hear this." "Jenny's awake?" "Oh, yes. Most of her problem was an allergenic reaction to the aconite. We've purged the poison from her system and she's making a very rapid recovery. She wants to get up. That's always a good sign." "How'd the poison get in the food?" Dasein asked. "One of the student nurses mistook it for a container of MSG. She . . ." "But how'd it get in the kitchen?" "We haven't determined yet. No doubt it was some silly accident." "No doubt," Dasein muttered. "Well, you eat your cheese and get some rest," she said. "Ring if you need anything." The door closed briskly behind her. Dasein looked at the golden block of cheese. Its Jaspers odor clamored at his nostrils. He broke off a small corner of the cheese in his fingers, touched it to his tongue. Dasein's senses jumped to attention. Without conscious volition, he took the cheese into his mouth, swallowed it: smooth, soothing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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