"Alfred Bester - Demolished Man, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

for seventy years... A lost art... As lost as phlebotomy, chirurgery,
alchemy... I'll bring death back. Not the hasty, crazy killing of the
psychotic, the brawler... but the normal, deliberate, planned,
cold-blooded---
"For God's sake!" Tate murmured. "Be careful, man. Your murder's
showing."
Eight, sir; seven, sir...
"That's better. Here comes one of the peeper secretaries. He screens
the guests for crashers. Keep singing."
A slender, willowy young man, all gush, all cropped golden hair, all
violet blouse and silver culottes: "Dr. Tate! Mr. Reich! I'm speechless.
Actually. I can't utter word one. Come in! Come in!"
Six, sir; five, sir...
Maria Beaumont clove through the crowd, arms outstretched, eyes
outstretched, naked bosom outstretched... her body transformed by pneumatic
surgery into an exagerated East Indian figure with puffed hips, puffed
calves and puffed gilt breasts. To Reich she was the painted figurehead of
a pornographic ship... the famous Gilt Corpse.
"Ben, darling creature!" She embraced him with pneumatic intensity,
contriving to press his hand into her cleavage. "It's too too wonderful."
"It's too too plastic, Maria," he murmured in her ear.
"Have you found that lost million yet?"
"Just laid hands on it now, dear."
"Be careful, audacious lover. I'm having every morsel of this divine
party recorded."
Over her shoulder, Reich shot a glance at Tate. Tate shook his head
reassuringly.
"Come and meet everybody who's everybody," Maria said. She took his
arm. "We'll have ages for ourselves later."
The lights in the groined vaults overhead changed again and shifted up
the spectrum. The costumes changed color. Skin that had glowed with pink
nacre now shone with eerie luminescence.
On his left flank, Tate gave the prearranged signal: Danger! Danger!
Danger!
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun. RIFF. Tension,
apprehension, and dissension have begun...
Maria was introducing another effete, all gush, all cropped copper
hair, all fuchsia blouse and Prussian blue culottes.
"Larry Ferar, Ben. My other social secretary. Larry's been dying to
meet you."
Four, sir; three, sir...
"Mr. Reich! But too thrilled. I can't utter word one."
Two, sir; one!
The young man accepted Reich's smile and moved on. Still circling in
convoy, Tate gave Reich a reassuring nod. Again the overhead lights
changed. Portions of the guests' costumes appeared to dissolve. Reich, who
had never succumbed to the fashion of wearing ultra-violet windows in his
clothes, stood secure in his opaque suit, watching with contempt the quick,
roving eyes around him, searching, appraising, comparing, desiring.
Tate signalled: Danger! Danger! Danger!