hoeo: переводы

→Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot with every step; no gentle rustling, but the sharp, snapping sounds of irrevocable, unrepeatable damage — as if to hammer into my brain the fact that no one else has come this way for some time. Every footfall proclaims that there’ll be no help, no interruptions, no distractions.

→By now, the implant must have disgorged its nanomachines, to build links between my brain and the tiny optical processor whose neural net embodies Carter’s bizarre beliefs. Short-circuiting my own attitudes; hard-wiring his insanity into my brain. But no matter — I can always get it removed; that’s the easiest thing in the world. If it’s still what I want.

→The sunshine is dazzling; I close my eyes against the glare. I haven’t given up. I’ll pretend that the implant has failed — that should disconcert him, buy me a few more minutes.

→A wave of giddiness sweeps over me. I stagger, but regain my balance. I stand, staring at my shadow on the ground, swaying gently, feeling impossibly light.

→‘But it isn’t! And it distracts us from the truth!’ Carter is growing impassioned, but there’s no hint of fanaticism in his demeanour. I almost wish he’d start ranting — but instead he continues, more calmly, more reasonably than ever. ‘I’m not saying that memories make no difference; of course they do. But there’s a part of you that’s independent of them — and that part will live again. One day, someone, somewhere, will think as you did, act as you did. Even if it’s only for a second or two, that person will be you.’

→He nods. ‘Imperceptibly — exactly! But does that make it any less real? Who’s swallowed the lie? It’s seeing the life of your body as the life of one person that’s the illusion. The idea that “you” are made up of all the events since your birth is nothing but a useful fiction. That’s not a person: it’s a composite, a mosaic.’

→Using the implant would buy me more time: the four or five minutes before it takes effect. What have I got to lose? Carter’s reluctance to kill me, ‘unenlightened’? In the end, that’s made no difference, thirty-three times before. My will to stay alive? Maybe; maybe not. A change in my intellectual views about mortality need not render me utterly supine; even believers in a glorious afterlife have been known to struggle hard to postpone the trip.

→I brush the flies from my face, for the hundredth time; they alight again, fearlessly. Carter is five metres away; if I take a step in his direction, he’ll shoot me in the head, without the slightest hesitation. I strain my ears, and hear nothing but crickets.

→‘Fuck you! Listen to me! All Finn has is money. I can ruin him, if that’s what it takes. From the other side of the world!’ I don’t even know whether or not I’m lying any more. Could I do that? To save my life?

→I say, ‘There’s no need for anything. There’s no need for you to kill me. We can still both walk out of here. Why do you act like you have no choice?’

→I shake my head, vehemently. There’s nothing to be gained by humouring him; I’m too bad an actor to make it convincing — and an argument can only buy me more time.

→‘And I should get more comfort from the thought of someone who’s no relation at all, with no memories of mine, no sense of continuity—’

→I have an instant, vivid fantasy of walking forward to accept it: my chance, at last, to disarm him.

→I don’t know what to say. I have no more arguments, no more pleas. I almost turn and run, but I can’t do it. I can’t believe that I’d get away — and I can’t bring myself to make him pull the trigger a moment sooner.

→I say, ‘OK, I’ve done what you wanted. But everything I said before still stands. Let me live, and I’ll make you rich. A million a year. At least.’

→Carter laughs with delight. I almost join him. From out of nowhere, I have five more minutes to save my life.

→‘A soul by any other name.’

→‘No. Statistics. There can be no “reincarnation” — there are no souls to be reborn. But eventually — by pure chance — someone will come along who’ll embody everything that defines you.’

→‘No shit. I’ve never believed that the universe would vanish when I died. But if you think that’s some great consolation—’

→‘How different can two humans be?’