"Stranger in a Strange Land" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert Anson)VJILL LOOKED round-eyed. «Too many martinis, Ben. I would swear you said that patient owns Mars.» «He does. He occupied it the required period. Smith is the planet Mars — King, President, sole civic body, what you will. If the «Fantastic!» «But legal. Honey, you see why people are interested in Smith? And why the administration is keeping him under a rug? What they are doing isn't legal. Smith is also a citizen of the United States and of the Federation; it's illegal to hold a citizen, even a convicted criminal, incommunicado anywhere in the Federation. Also, it has been an unfriendly act all through history to lock up a visiting monarch — which he is — and not to let him see people, especially the press, meaning «Huh? You've got me scared silly. Ben, if they had caught me, what would they have done?» «Mmm … nothing rough. Locked you in a padded cell, with a certificate signed by three doctors, and allowed you mail on alternate leap years. I'm wondering what they are going to do to «What «Well, he might die — from gee-fatigue, say.» «You mean «Tut, tut! Don't use nasty words. I don't think they will. In the first place he is a mine of information. In the second place, he is a bridge between us and the only other civilized race we have encountered. How are you on the classics? Ever read H. G. Wells' «A long time ago, in school.» «Suppose the Martians turn out nasty. They might and we have no way of guessing how big a club they swing. Smith might be the go-between who could make the First Interplanetary War unnecessary. Even if this is unlikely, the administration can't ignore it. The discovery of life on Mars is something that, politically, they haven't figured out yet.» «Then you think he is safe?» «For the time being. The Secretary General has to guess right. As you know, his administration is shaky.» «I don't pay attention to politics.» «You should. It's barely less important than your own heart beat.» «I don't pay attention to that, either.» «Don't talk when I'm orating. The patchwork majority headed by Douglas could slip apart overnight — Pakistan would bolt at a nervous cough. There would be a vote of no confidence and Mr. Secretary General Douglas would go back to being a cheap lawyer. The Man from Mars can make or break him. Are you going to sneak me in?» «I'm going to enter a nunnery. Is there more coffee?» «I'll see.» They stood up. Jill stretched and said, «Oh, my ancient bones! Never mind coffee, Ben; I've got a hard day tomorrow. Run me home, will you? Or send me home, that's safer.» «Okay, though the evening is young.» He went into his bedroom, came out carrying an object the size of a small cigarette lighter. «You won't sneak me in?» «Gee, Ben, I «Never mind. It is dangerous — and not just to your career.» He showed her the object. «Will you put a bug on him?» «Huh? What is it?» «The greatest boon to spies since the Mickey Finn. A microminiaturized recorder. The wire is spring driven so it can't be spotted by a snooper circuit. The insides are packed in plastic — you could drop it out of a cab. The power is about as much radioactivity as in a watch dial, but shielded. The wire runs twenty-four hours. Then you slide out a spool and stick in another — the spring is part of the spool.» «Will it explode?» she asked nervously. «You could bake it in a cake.» «Ben, you've got me scared to go into his room.» «You can go into the room next door, can't you?» «I suppose so.» «This thing has donkey's ears. Fasten the concave side against a wall — tape will do — and it picks up everything in the room beyond.» «I'm bound to be noticed if I duck in and out of that room. Ben, his room has a wall in common with a room on another corridor. Will that do?» «Perfect. You'll do it?» «Umm… give it to me. I'll think it over.» Caxton polished it with his handkerchief. «Put on your gloves.» «Why?» «Possession is good for a vacation behind bars. Use gloves and don't get caught with it.» «You think of the nicest things!» «Want to back out?» Jill let out a long breath. «No.» «Good girl!» A light blinked, he glanced up. «That must be your cab. I rang for it when I went to get this.» «Oh. Find my shoes, will you? Don't come to the roof. The less I'm seen with you the better.» «As you wish.» As he straightened up from putting her shoes on, she took his head in both hands and kissed him. «Dear Ben! No good can come of this and I hadn't realized you were a criminal — but you're a good cook as long as I set the combination … I might marry you if I can trap you into proposing again.» «The offer remains open.» «Do gangsters marry their molls? Or is it “frails”?» She left hurriedly. Jill placed the bug easily. The patient in the room in the next corridor was bedfast; Jill often stopped to gossip. She stuck it against the wall over a closet shelf while chattering about how the maids just Changing spools the next day was easy; the patient was asleep. She woke while Jill was perched on a chair; Jill diverted her with a spicy ward rumor. Jill sent the exposed wire by mail, as the postal system seemed safer than a cloak and dagger ruse. But her attempt to insert a third spool she muffed. She waited for the patient to be asleep but had just mounted the chair when the patient woke. «Oh! Hello, Miss Boardman.» Jill froze. «Hello, Mrs. Fritschlie,» she managed to answer. «Have a nice nap?» «Fair,» the woman answered peevishly. «My back aches.» «I'll rub it.» «Doesn't help. Why are you always fiddling in my closet? Is something wrong?» Jill tried to reswallow her stomach. «Mice,» she answered. «“Mice”? Oh I'll have to have another room!» Jill tore the instrument loose and stuffed it into her pocket, jumped down. «Now, now, Mrs. Fritschlie — I was just looking to see if there were mouse holes. There aren't.» «You're «Quite sure. Now let's rub the back. Easy over.» Jill decided to risk the empty room which was part of K- 12, the suite of the Man from Mars. She got the pass key. Only to find the room unlocked and holding two more marines; the guard had been doubled. One looked around as she opened the door. «Looking for someone?» «No. Don't sit on the bed, boys,» she said crisply. «If you need chairs, we'll send for them.» The guard got reluctantly up; she left, trying to conceal her trembling. The bug was still in her pocket when she went off duty; she decided to return it to Caxton. Once in the air and headed toward Ben's apartment she breathed easier. She phoned him in flight. «Caxton speaking.» «Jill, Ben. I want to see you.» He answered slowly,«I don't think it's smart.» «Ben, I've got to. I'm on my way.» «Well, okay, if that's how it's got to be.» «Such enthusiasm!» «Now look, hon, it isn't that I — » «'Bye!» She switched off, calmed down and decided not to take it out on Ben — they were playing out of their league. At least she was — she should have left politics alone. She felt better when she snuggled into his arms. Ben was such a dear — maybe she should marry him. When she tried to speak he put a hand over her mouth, whispered, «Don't talk. I may be wired.» She nodded, got out the recorder, handed it to him. His eyebrows went up but he made no comment. Instead he handed her a copy of the afternoon «Seen the paper?» he said in a natural voice. «You might glance at it while I wash up.» «Thanks.» As she took it he pointed to a column, then left, taking with him the recorder. The column was Ben's own: THE CROW'S NEST by Ben Caxton Everyone knows that jails and hospitals have one thing in common: they can be very hard to get out of. In some ways a prisoner is less cut off than a patient; a prisoner can send for his lawyer, demand a Fair Witness, invoke But it takes only a NO VISITORS sign, ordered by one of the medicine men of our peculiar tribe, to consign a hospital patient to oblivion more thoroughly than ever was the Man in the Iron Mask. To be sure, the patient's next of kin cannot be kept out — but the Man from Mars seems to have no next of kin. The crew of the ill-fated Envoy had few ties on Earth; if the Man in the Iron Mask — pardon me; I mean the «Man from Mars» — has any relative guarding his interests, a few thousand reporters have been unable to verify it. Who speaks for the Man from Mars? Who ordered an armed guard placed around him? What is his dread disease that no one may glimpse him, nor ask him a question? I address Could this disease be financial in nature? Or (let's say it softly) is it political? There was more of the same; Jill could see that Ben was baiting the administration, trying to force them into the open. She felt that Caxton was taking serious risk in challenging the authorities, but she had no notion of the size of the danger, nor what form it might take. She thumbed through the paper. It was loaded with stories on the Ben came out and dropped sheets of onionskin in her lap. «Here's another newspaper.» He left again. Jill saw that the «newspaper» was a transcription of what her first wire had picked up. It was marked «First Voice,» «Second Voice,» and so on, but Ben had written in names wherever he had been able to make attributions. He had written across the top: «All voices are masculine.» Most items merely showed that Smith had been fed, washed, massaged and that he had exercised under supervision of a voice identified as «Doctor Nelson» and one marked «second doctor.» One passage had nothing to do with care of the patient. Jill reread it: Doctor Nelson: How are you feeling, boy? Strong enough to talk? Smith: Yes. Doctor Nelson: A man wants to talk to you. Smith: (pause) Who? (Caxton had written: All of Smith's speeches are preceded by pauses.) Nelson: This man is our great (untranscribable guttural word — Martian?). He is our oldest Old One. Will you talk with him? Smith: (very long pause) I am great happy. The Old One will talk and I will listen and grow. Nelson: No, no! He wants to ask you questions. Smith: I cannot teach an Old One. Nelson: The Old One wishes it. Will you let him ask you questions? Smith: Yes. (Background noises) Nelson: This way, sir. I have Doctor Mahmoud standing by to translate. Jill read «New Voice.» Caxton had scratched this out and written in: «Secretary General Douglas! ! !» Secretary General: I won't need him. You say Smith understands English. Nelson: Well, yes and no, Your Excellency. He knows a number of words, but, as Mahmoud says, he doesn't have any cultural context to hang them on. It can be confusing. Secretary General: Oh, we'll get along, I'm sure. When I was a youngster I hitchhiked all through Brazil, without a word of Portuguese when I started. Now, if you will introduce us — then leave us alone. Nelson: Sir? I had better stay with my patient. Secretary General: Really, Doctor? I'm afraid I must insist. Sorry. Nelson: And I am afraid that Secretary General: (interrupting) As a lawyer, I know something of medical jurisprudence — so don't give me that «medical ethics» mumbo-jumbo. Did this patient select you? Nelson: Not exactly, but — Secretary General: Has he had opportunity to choose physicians? I doubt it. His status is ward of the state. I am acting as next of kin, de Nelson: (long pause, then very stiffly) If you put it that way, Your Excellency, I withdraw from the case. Secretary General: Don't take it that way, Doctor. I'm not questioning your treatment. But you wouldn't try to keep a mother from seeing her son alone, now would you? Are you afraid I might hurt him? Nelson: No, but — Secretary General: Then what is your objection? Come now, introduce us and let's get on with it. This fussing may be upsetting your patient. Nelson: Your Excellency, I will introduce you. Then you must select another doctor for your … ward. Secretary General: I'm sorry, Doctor, I really am. I can't take that as final — we'll discuss it later. Now, if you please? Nelson: Step over here, sir. Son, this is the man who wants to see you. Our great Old One. Smith: (untranscribable) Secretary General: What did he say? Nelson: A respectful greeting. Mahmoud says it translates: «I am only an egg.» More or less that, anyway. It's friendly. Son, talk man-talk. Smith: Yes. Nelson: And you had better use simple words, if I may offer a last advice. Secretary General: Oh, I will. Nelson: Good-by, Your Excellency. Good-by, son. Secretary General: Thanks, Doctor. See you later. Secretary General: (continued) How do you feel? Smith: Feel fine. Secretary General: Good. Anything you want, just ask for it. We want you to be happy. Now I have something I want you to do for me. Can you write? Smith: «Write»? What is «write»? Secretary General: Well, your thumb print will do. I want to read a paper to you. This paper has a lot of lawyer talk, but stated simply it says that you agree that in leaving Mars you have abandoned — I mean, given up — any claims that you may have there. Understand me? You assign them in trust to the government. Smith: (no answer) Secretary General: Well, let's put it this way. You don't own Mars, do you? Smith: (longish pause) I do not understand. Secretary General: Mmm…let's try again. You want to stay here, don't you? Smith: I do not know. I was sent by the Old Ones. (Long untranscribable speech, sounds like a bullfrog fighting a cat.) Secretary General: Damn it, they should have taught him more English by now. See here, son, you don't have to worry. Just let me have your thumb print at the bottom of this page. Let me have your right hand. No, don't twist around that way. Hold still! I'm not going to hurt you … Second Doctor: Yes, sir? Secretary General: Get Doctor Nelson? Second Doctor: Doctor Nelson? But he left, sir. He said you took him off the case. Secretary General: Nelson said that? Second Doctor: I don't believe there is anything to be done, sir. Just let him alone until he comes out of it. That's what Doctor Nelson always did. Secretary General: Blast Doctor Nelson! The Secretary General's voice did not appear again, nor that of Doctor Nelson. Jill could guess, from gossip she had picked up, that Smith had gone into one of his cataleptiform withdrawals. There were two more entries. One read: No need to whisper. He can't hear you. The other read: Take that tray away. We'll feed him when he comes out of it. Jill was rereading it when Ben reappeared. He had more onionskin sheets but he did not offer them; instead he said, «Hungry?» «Starved.» «Let's go shoot a cow.» He said nothing while they went to the roof and took a taxi, still kept quiet during a flight to Alexandria platform, where they switched cabs. Ben picked one with a Baltimore number. Once in the air he set it for Hagerstown, Maryland, then relaxed. «Now we can talk.» «Ben, why the mystery?» «Sorry, pretty foots. I don't Jill shivered. «Ben, you don't think they would …» She let it trail off. «Don't I, now! You saw my column. I filed that copy nine hours ago. You think the administration will let me kick it in the stomach without kicking back?» «But you have always opposed this administration.» «That's okay. This is different; I have accused them of holding a political prisoner. Jill, a government is a living organism. Like every living thing its prime characteristic is the instinct to survive. You hit it, it fights back. This time I've «I'm not afraid. Not since I turned that gadget back to you.» «You're associated with me. If things get rough, that could be enough.» Jill shut up. The notion that she, who had never experienced worse than a spanking as a child and an occasional harsh word as an adult, could be in danger was hard to believe. As a nurse, she had seen the consequences of ruthlessness — but it could not happen to Their cab was circling for a landing before she broke the moody silence. «Ben? Suppose this patient dies. What happens?» «Huh?» He frowned. «That's a good question. If there are no other questions, the class is dismissed.» «Don't be funny.» «Hmm … Jill, I've been awake nights trying to answer that. Here are the best answers I have: If Smith dies, his claim to Mars vanishes. Probably the group the «Huh? Why?» «The Larkin Decision might not apply. Luna was uninhabited, but Mars «But, Ben, that would be the case anyhow. This notion of a single man «Don't use that word to a lawyer; straining at gnats and swallowing camels is a required course in law schools. Besides, there is precedent. In the fifteenth century the Pope deeded the western hemisphere to Spain and Portugal and nobody cared that the real estate was occupied by Indians with their own laws, customs, and property rights. His grant was effective, too. Look at a map and notice where Spanish is spoken and where Portuguese is spoken.» «Yes, but — Ben, this isn't the fifteenth century.» «It is to a lawyer. Jill, if the High Court rules that the Larkin Decision applies, Smith is in a position to grant concessions which may be worth millions, more likely billions. If he assigns his claim to the administration, then Secretary Douglas controls the plums.» «Ben, why should anybody want that much power?» «Why does a moth fly toward light? But Smith's financial holdings are almost as important as his position as nominal king-emperor of Mars. The High Court could knock out his squatter's rights but I doubt if anything could shake his ownership of the Lyle Drive and a chunk of Lunar Enterprises. What happens if he dies? A thousand alleged cousins would pop up, of course, but the Science Foundation has fought off such money-hungry vermin for years. It seems possible that, if Smith dies without a will, his fortune reverts to the state.» «Do you mean the Federation or the United States?» «Another question to which I have no answer. His parents come from two countries of the Federation and he was born outside them all … and it will make a crucial difference to some people who votes that stock and licenses those patents. It won't be Smith; he won't know a stock proxy from a traffic ticket. It is likely to be whoever can grab him and hang on. I doubt if Lloyd's would insure his life; he strikes me as a poor risk.» «The poor baby! The poor, poor infant!» |
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