dk.solesurvivor-第68部分

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　　By　now　they　were　out　of　the　dark　hills　and　into　suburbs　again。　Ahead　was　the　entrance　to　the　freeway　that　would　take　them　east　across　the　city。
　　As　he　drove　up　the　ramp；　heading　toward　Glendale　and　Pasadena；　Joe　said；　'I　don't　believe　in　anything。'
　　'I　know。'
　　'No　loving　god　would　allow　such　suffering。'
　　'Pollack　would　say　that　the　fallacy　of　your　thinking　lies　in　its　narrow　human　perspective。'
　　'Maybe　Pollack　is　full　of　shit。'
　　Whether　Rose　began　to　laugh　again　or　fell　directly　victim　to　the　cough；　Joe　couldn't　tell；　but　she　needed　even　longer　than　before　to　regain　control　of　herself。
　　'You　need　to　see　a　doctor；'　he　insisted。
　　She　was　adamantly　opposed。　Any　delay。　。　。　and　Nina's　dead。'
　　'Don't　make　me　choose　between…'
　　'There　is　no　choice。　That's　my　point。　If　it's　me　or　Nina。　。　。　then　she　es　first。　Because　she's　the　future。　She's　the　hope。'
　　
　　Orange…faced　on　first　appearance；　the　moon　had　lost　its　blush　and；　stage　fright　behind　it；　had　put　on　the　stark　white　face　of　a　smugly　amused　mime。
　　Sunday　night　traffic　on　the　moon…mocked　freeway　was　heavy　as　Angelenos　returned　from　Vegas　and　other　points　in　the　desert；　while　desert　dwellers　streamed　in　the　opposite　direction；　returning　from　the　city　and　its　beaches：　ceaselessly　restless；　these　multitudes；　always　seeking　a　greater　happiness…and　often　finding　it；　but　only　for　a　weekend　or　an　afternoon。
　　Joe　drove　as　fast　and　as　recklessly　as　he　dared；　weaving　from　lane　to　lane；　but　keeping　in　mind　that　they　could　not　risk　being　stopped　by　the　highway　patrol。　The　car　wasn't　registered　in　either　his　name　or　Rose's。　Even　if　they　could　prove　it　had　been　loaned　to　them；　they　would　lose　valuable　time　in　the　process。
　　'What　is　Project　Ninety…nine？'　he　asked　her。　'What　the　hell　are　they　doing　in　that　subterranean　facility　outside　Manassas？'
　　'You've　heard　about　the　Human　Genome　Project。'
　　'Yeah。　Cover　of　Newsweek。　As　I　understand　it；　they're　figuring　out　what　each　human　gene　controls。'
　　'The　greatest　scientific　undertaking　of　our　age；'　Rose　said。　'Mapping　all　one　hundred　thousand　human　genes　and　detailing　the　DNA　alphabet　of　each。　And　they're　making　incredibly　fast　progress。'
　　'Find　out　how　to　cure　muscular　dystrophy；　multiple　sclerosis…'
　　'Cancer；　everything…given　time。'
　　'You're　part　of　that？'
　　'No。　Not　directly。　At　Project　Ninety…nine　。　。　。　we　have　a　more　exotic　assignment。　We're　looking　for　those　genes　that　seem　to　be　associated　with　unusual　talents。'
　　'What…like　Mozart　or　Rembrandt　or　Michael　Jordan？'
　　'No。　Not　creative　or　athletic　talents。　Paranormal　talents。　Telepathy。　Telekinesis。　Pyrokinesis。　It's　a　long　strange　list。'
　　His　immediate　reaction　was　that　of　a　crime　reporter；　not　of　a　man　who　had　recently　seen　the　fantastic　in　action：　'But　there　aren't　such　talents。　That's　science　fiction。'
　　'There　are　people　who　score　far　higher　than　chance　on　a　variety　of　tests　designed　to　disclose　psychic　abilities。　Card　prediction。　Calling　coin　tosses。　Thought…image　transmission。'
　　'That　stuff　they　used　to　do　at　Duke　University。'
　　'That　and　more。　When　we　find　people　who　perform　exceptionally　well　in　these　tests；　we　take　blood　samples　from　them。　We　study　their　genetic　structure。　Or　children　in　poltergeist　situations。'
　　'Poltergeists？'
　　'Poltergeist　phenomena…weeding　out　the　hoaxes…aren't　really　ghosts。　There's　always　one　or　more　children　in　houses　where　this　happens。　We　think　the　objects　flying　around　the　room　and　the　ectoplasmic　apparitions　are　caused　by　these　children；　by　their　unconscious　exercise　of　powers　they　don't　even　know　they　have。　We　take　samples　from　these　kids　when　we　can　find　them。　We're　building　a　library　of　unusual　genetic　profiles；　looking　for　mon　patterns　among　people　who　have　had　all　manner　of　paranormal　experiences。'
　　'And　have　you　found　something？'
　　She　was　silent；　perhaps　waiting　for　another　spasm　of　pain　to　pass；　though　her　face　revealed　more　mental　anguish　than　physical　suffering。　At　last　she　said；　'Quite　a　lot；　yes。'
　　If　there　had　been　enough　light　for　Joe　to　see　his　reflection　in　the　rear…view　mirror；　he　knew　that　he　could　have　watched　as　his　tan　faded　and　his　face　turned　as　white　as　the　moon；　for　he　suddenly　knew　the　essence　of　what　Project　Ninety…nine　was　all　about。　'You　haven't　just　studied　this。'
　　'Not　just。　No。'
　　'You've　applied　the　research。'
　　'Yes。'
　　'How　many　work　on　Project　Ninety…nine？'
　　'Over　two　hundred　of　us。'
　　'Making　monsters；'　he　said　numbly。
　　'People；'　she　said。　'Making　people　in　a　lab。'
　　'They　may　look　like　people；　but　some　of　them　are　monsters。'
　　She　was　silent　for　perhaps　a　mile。　Then　she　said；　'Yes。'　And　after　another　silence：　'Though　the　true　monsters　are　those　of　us　who　made　them。'
　　
　　Fenced　and　patrolled；　identified　at　the　highway　as　a　think　tank　called　the　Quartermass　Institute；　the　property　enpasses　eighteen　hundred　acres　in　the　Virginia　countryside：　meadowed　hills　where　deer　graze；　hushed　woods　of　birch　and　beeches　where　a　plenitude　of　small　game　thrives　beyond　the　rifle　reach　of　hunters；　ponds　with　ducks；　and　grassy　fields　with　nesting　plovers。
　　Although　security　appears　to　be　minimal；　no　animal　larger　than　a　rabbit　moves　across　these　acres　without　being　monitored　by　motion　detectors；　heat　sensors；　microphones；　and　cameras；　which　feed　a　continuous　river　of　data　to　a　Cray　puter　for　continuous　analysis。　Unauthorized　visitors　are　subject　to　immediate　arrest　and；　on　those　rare　occasions　when　hunters　or　adventurous　teenagers　scale　the　fence；　they　are　halted　and　taken　into　custody　within　five　hundred　feet　of　the　point　of　intrusion。
　　Near　the　geographical　centre　of　these　peaceful　acres　is　the　orphanage；　a　cheerless　three…story　brick　structure　that　resembles　a　hospital。　Forty…eight　children　currently　reside　herein；　every　one　below　the　age　of　six…though　some　appear　older。　They　are　all　residents　by　virtue　of　having　been　born　without　mothers　or　fathers　in　any　but　the　chemical　sense。　None　of　them　was　conceived　in　love；　and　none　entered　the　world　through　a　woman's　womb。　As　foetuses；　they　were　nurtured　in　mechanical　wombs；　adrift　in　amniotic　fluid　brewed　in　a　laboratory。
　　As　with　laboratory　rats　and　monkeys；　as　with　dogs　whose　skulls　are　cut　open　and　brains　exposed　for　days　during　experiments　related　to　the　central　nervous　system；　as　with　all　animals　that　further　the　cause　of　knowledge；　these　orphans　have　no　names。　To　name　them　would　be　to　encourage　their　handlers　to　develop　emotional　attachments　to　them。　The　handlers…which　includes　everyone　from　those　security　men　who　double　as　cooks　to　the　scientists　who　bring　these　children　into　the　world…must　remain　morally　neutral　and　emotionally　detached　in　order　to　do　their　work　properly。　Consequently；　the　children　are　known　by　letter　and　number　codes　that　refer　to　the　specific　indices　in　Project　99's　genetic…profile　library　from　which　their　special　abilities　were　selected。
　　Here　on　the　third　floor；　southwest　corner；　in　a　room　of　her　own；　sits　ATX…12…23。　She　is　four　years　old；　catatonic；　and　incontinent。　She　waits　in　her　crib；　in　her　own　wastes　until　her　nurse　changes　her；　and　she　never　plains。　ATX…12…23　has　never　spoken　a　single　word　or　uttered　any　sound　whatsoever。　As　an　infant；　she　never　cried。　She　cannot　walk。　She　sits　motionlessly；　staring　into　the　middle　distance；　sometimes　drooling。　Her　muscles　are　partially　atrophied　even　though　she　is　given　manipulated　exercise　three　times　a　week。　If　her　face　were　ever　to　be　enlivened　by　expression；　she　might　be　beautiful；　but　the　unrelieved　slackness　of　her　features　gives　her　a　chilling　aspect。　Cameras　cover　every　inch　of　her　room　and　record　around　the　clock；　which　might　seem　to　be　a　waste　of　videotape　…except　that　from　time　to　time；　inanimate　objects　around　ATX…12…23　bee　animated。　Rubber　balls　of　various　colours　levitate　and　spin　in　the　air；　float　from　wall　to　wall　or　circle　the　child's　head　for　ten　or　twenty　minutes　at　a　time。　Window　blinds　raise　and　lower　without　a　hand　touching　them。　Lights　dim　and　flare；　the　digital　clock　speeds　through　the　hours；　and　a　teddy　bear　that　she　has　never　touched　sometimes　walks　around　the　room　on　its　stubby　legs　as　if　it　contains　the　mechanical　system　that　would