"Davies, Walter C - Interference" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davies Walter C)

Through them all was a continual undertone of abominable worry and expectancy of
death. Cantrell grunted softly whenever that image emerged. He recognized it
easily; that was what he and Boyle were out there in space to fight. It was the
ever-present dread of being struck down by the plague raging on Earth--the
shakes, spastitis malignant whatever you wanted to call it.
Cantrell saw people drop in the street, only to begin to tremble horribly at the
hands and feet with the disease. Finally he tore the headset off in disgust.
Boyle looked at him mildly.
"You try it solo," said Cantrell. "I can't get A damned thing out of the ether
except the pressure-waves from Tellus. And they aren't pretty."
Boyle removed his own set carefully. "It's eavesdropping," he said. "I tried to
get you every second. What were you doing?"
"Just what you were," grunted his partner. "Just exactly. I was trying to get
you, but you weren't to be had. We have to move on, Boyle. Do what you can with
the accelerators."
Boyle went to the instrument panel, worked the multiplex of levers. Too near the
Earth ! Too near to the suffering stew of human beings in agony, never knowing
who would be next with the shakes. That was what they had to get away from--the
emotional jags and lunatic vibrations from the home planet.
He and Cantrell had been carefully teamed as psychological mates for the full
utilization of the polyphone. Essentially the machine was intended to heighten
to the nth degree the rapport of a pair like this one. But they were too
sensitive for the machine. There was interference from the thousands who passed
in the street, from everybody all over the globe who was thinking consecutively
at the time.
And because the shakes was a disease of psychological degeneration you had to
fight it by probing into a mind and finding what was wrong. It didn't have to be
a diseased mind, for every normal mind has in its depths the seeds of every
psychological affliction that breaks out in wilder form. In Boyle's well-ordered
brain were minute traces of megalomania, satyriasis, schizophrenia, all the
words ending in philia and phobia as well as other unpleasant matters. Everybody
has them, whether he knows it or not.
The idea had been to shoot these two out into space, far from the influence and
interference of Earth; then they would work deeper and deeper into each other's
minds, finally to discover the seeds of the shakes that were inevitably lying
dormant.
One of the pleasant features of psychiatry is that once you have your problem
broken down it is already solved. The synthetic element of logic is superfluous;
analysis is sufficient. It might be that the shakes consisted of a fear of
technical progress reaching epidemic proportions through hysterical contagion.
You see a man fall in the street feebly kicking his heels in protest at being
deprived of the liberty to roam on grassy fields and your own elements of
protest are somewhat stirred. Then one day you feel despondent and they explode
when your censor band is not on guard against subversive urges like that. And
for the rest of your life you are a spastic, kicking and squirming
uncontrollably. Or until someone calmly explains to you what is wrong--about the
machine age and the rest. Then you are miraculously cured. And one cure breeds a
thousand as confidence grows.
Meanwhile there was the matter of interference from Earth. Boyle pushed the fuel
rod down to the limits of the outward bound trip. Dammit, they'd have to get