"Bester, Alfred - Fondly Faranheit (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

FONDLY FAHRENHEIT

Alfred Bester

He doesnТt know which of us we are these days, but they know one truth. You must own nothing but yourself. You must make your own life, live your own life and die your own death.. . or else you will die anotherТs.
The rice fields on Paragon III stretch for hundreds of miles like checkerboard tundras, a blue and brown mosaic under a burning sky of orange. In the evening, clouds whip like smoke, and the paddies rustle and murmur.
A long line of men marched across the paddies the evening we escaped from Paragon III. They were silent, armed, intent; a long rank of silhouetted statues looming against the smoking sky. Each man carried a gun. Each man wore a walkie-talkie belt pack, the speaker button in his ear, the microphone bug clipped to his throat, the glowing view-screen strapped to his wrist like a green-eyed watch. The multitude of screens showed nothing but a multitude of individual paths through the paddies. The annunciators made no sound but the rustle and splash of steps. The men spoke infrequently, in heavy grunts, all speaking to all.
УNothing here.Ф
УWhereТs here?Ф
УJensonТs fields.Ф
УYouТre drifting too far west.Ф
УClose in the line there.Ф
УAnybody covered the Grimson paddy?Ф
УYeah. Nothing.Ф
УShe couldnТt have walked this far.Ф
УCould have been carried.Ф
УThink sheТs alive?Ф
УWhy should she be dead?Ф
The slow refrain swept up and down the long line of beaters advancing toward the smoky sunset. The line of beaters wavered like a writhing snake, but never ceased its remorseless advance. One hundred men spaced fifty feet apart. Five thousand feet of ominous search. One mile of angry determination stretching from east to west across a compass of heart. Evening fell. Each man lit his search lamp. The writhing snake was transformed into a necklace of wavering diamonds.
УClear here. Nothing.Ф
УNothing here.Ф
УNothing.Ф -
УWhat about the Allen paddies?Ф
УCovering them now.Ф
УThink we missed her?Ф
УMaybe.Ф
УWeТll beat back and check.Ф
УThisТll be an all-night job.Ф
УAllen paddies clear.Ф
УGod damn! WeТve got to find her!Ф
УWeТll find her.Ф
УHere she is. Sector Seven. Tune in.Ф
The line stopped. The diamonds froze in the heat. There was silence. Each man gazed into the glowing green screen on his wrist, tuning to Sector 7. All tuned to one. All showed a small nude figure awash in the muddy water of a paddy. Alongside the figure an ownerТs stake of bronze read: VANDALEUR. The ends of the line converged toward the Vandaleur field. The necklace turned into a cluster of stars. One hundred men gathered around a small nude body, a child dead in a rice paddy. There was no water in her mouth. There were fingermarks on her throat. Her innocent face was battered. Her body
was torn. Clotted blood on her skin was crusted and hard.
УDead threeЧfour hours at least.Ф УHer mouth is dry.Ф
УShe wasnТt drowned. Beaten to death.Ф
In the dark evening heat-the men swore softly. They picked up the body. One stopped the others and pointed to the childТs fingernails. She had fought her murderer. Under the nails were particles of flesh and bright drops of scarlet red, still liquid, still uncoagulated.
УThat blood ought to be clotted too.Ф
УFunny.Ф УNot so funny. What kind of blood donТt clot??Т
УAndroid.Ф
УLooks like she was killed by one.Ф
УVandaleur owns an android.Ф
УShe couldnТt be killed by an android.Ф
УThatТs android blood under her nails.Ф
УThe police better check.Ф
УThe policeТll prove IТm right.Ф
УBut androids canТt kill.Ф УThatТs android blood, ainТt it?Ф
УAndroids canТt kill. TheyТre made that way.Ф
УLooks like one android was made wrong.Ф
УJesus!Ф