m1_5

Next to the Liners stood the Matriculators.


The procession advanced; one by one the eggs were transferred from their test-tubes to the larger containers;
deftly the peritoneal lining was slit, the morula dropped into place, the saline solution poured in … and already the bottle had passed, and it was the turn of the labellers.
Heredity, date of fertilization, membership of Bokanovsky Group–details were transferred from test-tube to bottle.


No longer anonymous, but named, identified, the procession marched slowly on; on through an opening in the wall, slowly on into the Social Predestination Room.
"Eighty-eight cubic metres of card-index," said Mr. Foster with relish, as they entered.
"Containing all the relevant information," added the Director.
"Brought up to date every morning."
"And co-ordinated every afternoon."
"On the basis of which they make their calculations."
"So many individuals, of such and such quality," said Mr. Foster.
"Distributed in such and such quantities."
"The optimum Decanting Rate at any given moment."
"Unforeseen wastages promptly made good."
"Promptly," repeated Mr. Foster. "If you knew the amount of overtime I had to put in after the last Japanese earthquake!"
He laughed goodhumouredly and shook his head.
"The Predestinators send in their figures to the Fertilizers."
"Who give them the embryos they ask for."
"And the bottles come in here to be predestined in detail."
"After which they are sent down to the Embryo Store."
"Where we now proceed ourselves."
And opening a door Mr. Foster led the way down a staircase into the basement.
The temperature was still tropical. They descended into a thickening twilight.
Two doors and a passage with a double turn insured the cellar against any possible infiltration of the day.
"Embryos are like photograph film," said Mr. Foster waggishly, as he pushed open the second door.
"They can only stand red light."
And in effect the sultry darkness into which the students now followed him was visible and crimson, like the darkness of closed eyes on a summer's afternoon.
The bulging flanks of row on receding row and tier above tier of bottles glinted with innumerable rubies,
and among the rubies moved the dim red spectres of men and women with purple eyes and all the symptoms of lupus. The hum and rattle of machinery faintly stirred the air.
"Give them a few figures, Mr. Foster," said the Director, who was tired of talking.
Mr. Foster was only too happy to give them a few figures.
Two hundred and twenty metres long, two hundred wide, ten high.
He pointed upwards. Like chickens drinking, the students lifted their eyes towards the distant ceiling.
Three tiers of racks: ground floor level, first gallery, second gallery.
生产线工人旁边是收纳员。
流水线继续前进；卵子一个个从试管转入更大的容器；
腹膜内膜被巧妙地剖开，甚状细胞准确落了进去，硷盐溶液注入……此时瓶子已经离去。下面是标签员的工作。
遗传状况、授精日期、波坎诺夫斯基组别——全部细节都从试管转到瓶子上。
这回不再是没有名字的了，署上了名，标明了身分。流水线缓缓前进，通过墙壁上一个人口进入了社会条件预定室。
“索引卡片总共有八十八立方米之多。”大家步入社会条件预定室时福斯特先生得意地说。
“包括了全部的有关资料。”主任补充道。
“而且每天早上更新。”
“每天下午调整。”
“他们在资料的基础上做出设计。”
“某种品质的个体是多少。”福斯特先生说。
“按这一种、那一种数量分配。”
“在任何特定时到投入最佳的分量。”
“有了意外的消耗立即会得到补充。”
“立即补充，”福斯特先生重复道，‘称要是知道上一次日本地震之后我加班加点所做的工作就好了！”
他摇着头，温文尔雅地笑了笑。
“命运预定员把他们设计的数字给胎孕员。”
“胎孕员把需要的胚胎给他们。”
“瓶子送到这儿来敲定命运设置的细节。”
“然后再送到胚胎库房去。”
“我们现在就是到胚胎库房去。”
福斯特先生开了一道门，领着大家走下台阶，进入了地下室。
温度仍热得像赤道。他们进入的地方越来越暗。
那条通道经过了两道门，拐了两个弯，用以确保目光不透进地窖。
“胚胎很像摄影胶卷，”福斯特先生推开第二道门时开玩笑似地说，
“只能承受红光。”
学生们跟他进去的地方又暗又热，实际上可以看见的东西都呈红色，像夏天午后闭上眼时眼里那种暗红。
通道两侧的大肚瓶一排接着一排，一层高于一层，闪着数不清的红宝石般的光。
红宝石之间行走着幽灵样的男男女女，形象模糊，眼睛通红，带着红斑狼疮的一切病征。机器的嗡嗡声和咔哒声微微地震动着空气。
“告诉他们几个数字吧。”主任不想多说话。
福斯特先生巴不得告诉他们一些数字。
二百二十公尺长，二百公尺宽，十公尺高，
他指了指头顶上。学生们抬起眼睛望望高处的天花板，一个个像喝着水的鸡。
架子有三层：地面长廊，一阶长廊，二阶长廊。