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

Reich answered: "Devastated. Not tonight. One of my millions is missing."
She answered: "Wednesday, you clever boy. I'll give you one of mine."
He replied: "Delighted to accept. Will bring guest. I kiss all of yours." And
went to bed.
And screamed at The Man With No Face.
Wednesday morning, Reich visited Monarch's Science-city ("Paternalism, you
know.") and spent a stimulating hour with its bright young men. He discussed
their work and their glowing futures if they would only have faith in Monarch.
He told the ancient dirty joke about the celibate pioneer who made the emergency
landing on the hearse in deep space (and the corpse said: "I'm just one of the
tourists!") and the bright young men laughed subserviently, feeling slightly
contemptuous of the boss.
This informality enabled Reich to drift into the Restricted Room and pick up one
of the visual knockout capsules. They were cubes of copper, half the size of
fulminating caps, but twice as deadly. When they were broken open, they erupted
a dazzling blue flare that ionized the Rhodopsin---the visual purple in the
retina of the eye---blinding the victim and abolishing his perception of time
and space.
Wednesday afternoon, Reich went over to Melody Lane in the heart of the
theatrical district and called on Psych-Songs, Inc. It was run by a clever young
woman who had written some brilliant jingles for his sales division and some
devastating strike-breaking songs for Propaganda back when Monarch needed
everything to smash last year's labor fracas. Her name was Duffy Wyg&. To Reich
she was the epitome of the modern career girl---the virgin seductress.
"Well, Duffy?" He kissed her casually. She was as shapely as a sales-curve,
pretty, but a trifle too young.
"Well, Mr. Reich?" She looked at him oddly. "Some day I'm going to hire one of
those Lonely-Heart Peepers to case your kiss. I keep thinking you don't mean
business."
"I don't."
"Dog."
"A man has to make up his mind early, Duffy. If he kisses girls he kisses his
money goodbye."
"You kiss me."
"Only because you're the image of the lady on the credit."
"Pip," she said.
"Pop," he said.
"Bim," she said.
"Bam," he said.
"I'd like to kill the bem who invented that fad," Duffy said darkly. "All right,
handsome. What's your problem?"
"Gambling," Reich said. "Ellery West, my Rec director, is complaining about the
gambling in Monarch. Says there's too much. Personally I don't care."
"Keep a man in debt and he's afraid to ask for a raise."
"You're entirely too smart, young lady."
"So you want a no-gamble-type song?"
"Something like that. Catchy. Not too obvious. More a delayed action than a
straight propaganda tune. I'd like the conditioning to be more or less
unconscious."
Duffy nodded and made quick notes.