"Isaac Asimov - Fantastic Vo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

"No no. It's your room, all right. Do come in and close the door behind you."

Morrison followed orders, staring at the man in silent astonishment.

He was a comfortably plump man, not quite fat, filling the chair from arm to arm. He wore a thin seersucker jacket and under it was a shirt so white that it seemed to glisten. He was not yet what one might call bald, but he was clearly on the way and what remained of his brown hair was crisply curly. He did not wear glasses, but his eyes were small and had a nearsighted look about them, which might be misleading -- or which perhaps meant he wore contacts.

He said, "You came back running, didn't you? I watched you --" he pointed out the window -- "sitting on the bench, then get up and come toward the hotel at the double. I was hoping you would come up to your hotel room. I didn't want to sit up here all day waiting for you."

"You were here in order to watch me from the window?"

"No, not at all. That was just an accident. You just happened to walk out with the lady to that bench. Convenient, but not really foreseen. It's all right, though. If I hadn't had the view from the window, there were others watching."

By that time Morrison had caught his breath and his mind had steadied itself to the point where he asked the question that should have had pride of place in the conversation. "Who are you, anyway?"

In response the man, smiling, took a small wallet from his inner jacket pocket and let it flip open. He said, "Signature, hologram, fingerprint, voiceprint."

Morrison looked from the hologram to the smiling face. The hologram was smiling, too. He said, "All right, so you're security. It still doesn't give you the right to break into my private quarters. I'm available. You could have called me from the lobby or knocked at my door."

"Strictly speaking, you're right, of course. But I thought it best to meet you as discreetly as possible. Besides, I presumed on old acquaintance."

"What old acquaintance?"

"Two years ago. Don't you remember? An international conference in Miami? You were presenting a paper and had a hard time of it --"

"I remember the occasion. I remember the paper. It's you I don't remember."

"That's not surprising, perhaps. I met you afterward. I asked you questions, and we actually had a few drinks together."

"I don't consider that old acquaintance. -- Francis Rodano?"

"That's my name, yes. You even pronounced it correctly. Accent on the second syllable. Broad a. Subliminal memory, obviously."

"No, I don't remember you. The name was on your identification. -- I'd rather you left."

"I would like to talk to you in my official capacity."

"Apparently everyone wants to talk to me. What about?"

"Your work."

"Are you a neurophysicist?"

"You must know I'm not. Slavic languages was my major. I minored in economics."

"Then what can we talk about? I'm good at Russian, but you're probably better. And I know nothing about economics."

"We can talk about your work. As we did two years ago. -- Look, why don't you sit down? It's your room and I won't really take long. If you want the chair I'm sitting on, I'll be glad to give it to you."

Morrison sat down at the side of the bed. "Let's get this over with. What do you want to know about my work?"