"Bester, Alfred - Disappearing Act (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

УTo keep the patients in, General Carpenter.Ф
УKeep Сem in? What dТyou mean? Are they trying to get out? They violent, or something?Ф
УNo, sir. Not violent.Ф
УDiinmock, I donТt like your attitude. YouТre acting damned sneaky and evasive. And IТll tell you something else I donТt like. That T classification. I checked with a Filing Expert from the Medical Corps and there is no T classification. What the hell are you up to at St. Albans?Ф
УW-Well, sir. . . We invented the T classification. It
They.. . TheyТre rather special cases, sir. We donТt know what to do about them or how to handle them. W-WeТve been trying to keep it quiet until weТve worked out a modus operandi, but itТs brand new, General Carpenter. Brand new!Ф Here the expert in Dinimock triumphed over discipline. УItТs sensational. ItТll make medical history, by God! ItТs the biggest damned thing ever.Ф
УWhat is it, Dimmock? Be specific.Ф
УWell, sir, theyТre shock cases. Blanked out. Almost catatonic. Very little respiration. Slow pulse. No response.Ф
УIТve seen thousands of shock cases like that,Ф Carpenter grunted. УWhatТs so unusual?Ф
УYes, sir. So far it sounds like the standard Q or R classification. But hereТs something unusual. They donТt eat and they donТt sleep.Ф
УNever?Ф
УSome of them never.Ф
УThen why donТt they die?Ф
УWe donТt know. The metabolism cycleТs broken, but only on the anabolism side. Catabolism continues. In other words, sir, theyТre eliminating waste products but theyТre not taking anything in. TheyТre eliminating fatigue poisons and rebuilding worn tissue, but without sleep. God knows how. ItТs fantastic.Ф
УThat why youТve got them locked up? Mean to say... DТyou suspect them of stealing food and cat naps somewhere else?Ф
УN-No, sir.Ф Dimmock looked shamefaced. УI donТt know how to tell you this, General Carpenter. I. . . We lock them up because of the real mystery. They. . . Well, they disappear.Ф
УThey what?Ф
УThey disappear, sir. Vanish. Right before your eyes.Ф
УThe hell you say.Ф
УI do say, sir. TheyТll be sitting on a bed or standing around. One minute you see them, tlie next minute you donТt. Sometimes thereТs two dozen in Ward T. Other times none. They disappear and reappear without rhyme or reason. ThatТs why weТve got the ward locked, General Carpenter. In the entire history of combat and combat injury thereТs never been a case like this before. We donТt know how to handle it.Ф
УBring me three of those cases,Ф General Carpenter said.

Nathan Riley ate French toast, eggs benedict; consumed two quarts of brown ale, smoked a John Drew, belched delicately and arose from the breakfast table. He nodded quietly to Gentleman Jim Corbett, who broke off his conversation with Diamond Jim Brady to intercept him on the way to the cashierТs desk.
УWho do you like for the pennant this year, Nat?Ф Gentleman Jim inquired.
УThe Dodgers,Ф Nathan Riley answered.
УTheyТve got no pitching.Ф
УTheyТve got Snider and Furillo and Campanella. TheyТll take the pennant this year, Jim. IТll bet they take it earlier than any team ever did. By September 13th. Make a note. See if IТm right.Ф
УYouТre always right, Nat,Ф Corbett said.
Riley smiled, paid his check, sauntered out into the street and caught a horsecar bound for Madison Square Garden. He got off at the corner of 50th and Eighth Avenue and walked upstairs to a handbook office over a radio repair shop. The bookie glanced at him, produced an envelope and counted out fifteen thousand dollars.
УRocky Marciano by a TKO over Roland La Starza in
the eleventh,Ф he said. УHow the hell do you call them so accurate, Nat?Ф
УThatТs the way I make a living,Ф Riley smiled. УAre you making book on the elections?Ф
УEisenhower twelve to five. StevensonЧФ
УNever mind Adlai.Ф Riley placed twenty thousand dollars on the counter. УIТm backing Ike. Get this down for me.Ф
He left the handbook office and went to his suite in the Waldorf where a tall, thin young man was waiting for him anxiously.
УOh yes,Ф Nathan Riley said. УYouТre Ford, arenТt you? Harold Ford?Ф
УHenry Ford, Mr. Riley.Ф
УAnd you need financing for that machine in your bicycle shop. WhatТs it called?Ф
УI call it an Ipsimobile, Mr. Riley.Ф
УHmnim. CanТt say I like that name. Why not call it an automobile?Ф
УThatТs a wonderful suggestion, Mr. Riley. IТll certainly take it.Ф
УI like you, Henry. YouТre young, eager, adaptable. I believe in your future and I believe in your automobile. IТll invest two hundred thousand dollars in your company.Ф
Riley wrote a check and ushered Henry Ford out. He glanced at his watch and suddenly felt impelled to go back and look around for a moment. He entered his bedroom, undressed, put on a gray shirt and gray slacks. Across the pocket of the shirt were large blue letters: U.S.A.H.
He locked the bedroom door and disappeared.
He reappeared in Ward T of the United States Army Hospital in St. Albans, standing alongside his bed which was one of twenty-four lining the walls of a long, light steel barracks. Before he could draw another breath, he was seized by three pairs of hands. Before he couldi struggle, he was shot by a pneumatic syringe and poleaxed~ by 1╜ cc of sodium thiomorphate.
Х УWeТve got one,Ф someone said.
УHang around,Ф someone else answered. УGeneral Carpenter said he wanted three.Ф
After Marcus Junius Brutus left her bed, Lela Machan clapped her hands. Her slave women entered the chamber and prepared her bath. She bathed, dressed, scented herself and breakfasted on Smyrna figs, rose oranges and a flagon of Lacrima Christi. Then she smoked a cigarette and ordered her litter.
The gates of her house were crowded as usual by adoring hordes from the Twentieth Legion. Two centurions removed her chair-bearers from the poles of the litter and bore her on their stout shoulders. Lela Machan smiled. A young man in a sapphire-blue cloak thrust through the mob and ran toward her. A knife flashed in his hand. Lela braced herself to meet death bravely.
УLady!Ф he cried. УLady Lela!Ф