"Dick, Philip K - Now Wait for Last Year v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

Robants in the shape of small boys hopped to their feet and one of them yelled authentically, 'Hey Virg! Where you been?'


'Had to do an errand for my mother,' Virgil cackled, his face shining with delight. 'How are ya, Earl? Hey, I got some good Chinese stamps my dad gave me; he got them at his office. There's duplicates; I'll trade you.' He fished in his pocket, halting on the porch of the building.


'Hey, you know what I have?' a second robant child shrilled. 'Some dry ice; I let Bob Rougy use my Flexie for it; you can hold it if you want.'


'I'll trade you a big-little book for it,' Virgil said as he produced his key and unlocked the front door of the building. 'How about Buck Rogers and the Doom Comet? That's real keen.'


As the rest of the party descended from the ship, Phyllis said to Eric, 'Offer the children a mint-condition 1952 Marilyn Monroe nude calendar and see what they'll give you for it. At least half a popsicle.'


As the apartment house door swung aside, a TF&D guard belatedly appeared. 'Oh, Mr Ackerman; I didn't realize you'd arrived.' The guard ushered them into the dark, carpeted hall.


'Is he here yet?' Virgil asked, with sudden apparent tension.


'Yes sir. In the apt resting. He asked not to be disturbed for several hours.' The guard, too, seemed nervous.


Halting, Virgil said, 'How large is his party?'


'Just himself, an aide, and two Secret Service men'.


'Who's for a glass of ice-cold Kool-Aid?' Virgil said reflexively over his shoulder as he led the way.


'Me, me,' Phyllis said, mimicking Virgil's enthusiastic tone. 'I want imitation fruit raspberry lime; what about you, Eric? How about gin bourbon lime or cherry Scotch vodka? Or didn't they sell those flavors back in 1935?'


To Eric, Harv said, 'I'd like a place to lie down and rest, myself. This Martian air makes me weak as a kitten.' His face had become mottled and ill-looking. 'Why doesn't he build a dome? Keep real air in here?'


'Maybe,' Eric pointed out, 'there's a purpose in this. Prevents him from retiring here for good; makes him leave after a short while.'


Coming up to them, Jonas said, 'Personally I enjoy coming to this anachronistic place, Harv. It's a fnugging museum.' Tc Eric he said, 'In all fairness, your wife does a superb job of providing artifacts for this period. Listen to that Ц what's it called? Ц that radio playing in that apt.' Dutifully they listened. It was 'Betty and Bob,' the ancient soap opera, emanating from the long-departed past. And even Eric found himself impressed; the voices seemed alive and totally real. They were here now, not mere echoes of themselves. How Kathy had achieved this he didn't know.


Steve, the huge and handsome, masculine Negro janitor of the building Ц or rather his robant simulacrum Ц appeared then, smoking his pipe and nodding cordially to them all. 'Morning, doctor. Little nip of cold we having these days. Kids be getting they sled out soonly. My own boy, Georgie, he saving for a sled, he say little while ago to me.'


'I'll chip in a 1934 dollar,' Ralf Ackerman said, reaching for his wallet. In a sotto voce aside to Eric he said, 'Or does old papa Virgil have it that the colored kid isn't entitled to a sled?'