"Dick, Philip K - The Zap Gun (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)
As he ate his stewed apricots, he pictured in his mind the great bank of computers at Festung Washington, D.C. as they had examined million after million of file cards and all the data on them, determining who was really typical in his buying habits and who was only faking it, like the Strattons in the conapt across from his who always tried to appear typical but who in no true ontological sense made it.
I mean, Febbs thought joyfully, I'm Aristotle's Universal Man, such as society has tried to breed genetically for five thousand years! And Univox-50R at Festung Washington finally recognized it!
When a weapon-component is at last put before me officially, he thought with grim assurance, I'll know how to plowshare it, all right. They can count on me. I'll come up with a dozen ways to plowshare it, and all of them good. Based on my knowledge and skill.
What's odd is that they'd still need the other five concomodies. Maybe they'll realize that. Maybe instead of giving me only a one-sixth slice they'll give me all the components. They might as well.
It would go about like this:
General Nitz (amazed): Good God, Febbs! You're completely right. This stage one of the Brownian movement-restriction field-induction coil, portable subtype, can be easily plowshared into an inexpensive source to chill beer on excursions lasting over seven hours. Whew! Gollee!
Febbs: However, I think you're still missing the basic point, General. If you'll look more closely at my official abstract on theЧ
The vidphone rang, then, interrupting his thoughts; he rose from the breakfast table, hurried to answer it.
On the screen a middle-aged female Wes-bloc bureaucrat appeared. "Mr. Surley G. Febbs of Conapt Building 300685?"
"Yes," he said, nervously.
"You received your notice by 'stant mail of your induction as concomody to the UN-W Natsec Board as of this following Tuesday."
"Yes!"
Surley Febbs, inside himself, fainted dead away. He had failed to read all the way down the notice. Of course the identity of the six concomodies on the Board was a matter of strict secrecy! And already he had told Mr. Rumford.
Or had he? Frantically, he tried to recall his exact words. Hadn't he merely said he received a notice? Oh God. If they found outЧ
"Thank you, Mr. Febbs," the female official said, and rang off. Febbs stood in silence, gradually hinging himself back together.
I'll have to call Mr. Rumford again, he realized. Make certain he thinks I'm quitting for health reasons. Some pretext. I've lost my conapt, have to leave the area. Anything!
He found himself shaking.
A new scene bloomed frighteningly in his mind.
General Nitz (grayly, with menace): So you told, Febbs.
Febbs: You need me, General. You really do! I can plowshare better than anyone drafted beforeЧUnivox-50R knows what it's talking about. In the name of God, sir! Give me a chance to prove my superior worth.
General Nitz (moved): Well, all right, Febbs. I can see you're not quite like anyone else. We can afford to treat you differently, because the fact is that in all my long years of dealing with all kinds of people I have never seen anyone as unique as you and it would be a distinct loss to the Free World if you decided not to stick with us and give us the benefit of your knowledge, experience and talent.
Reseating himself at his breakfast table. Febbs mechanically resumed the eating which had been interrupted.
General Nitz: Actually, Febbs, I'd even go so far as to sayЧ
Aw, the hell with it, Febbs thought with growing, overwhelming gloom.
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