"Dick, Philip K - Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

УIТll have to check with my wife,Ф Hnatt said.
УArenТt you the representative of your firm?Ф
УY-yes.Ф He accepted the pile of skins.
УThe contract.Ф Icholtz produced a document, spread it flat on the table; he extended a pen. УIt gives us an exclusive.Ф
As he bent to sign, Richard Hnatt saw the name of IcholtzТ firm on the contract. Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston. He had never heard of them. Chew-ZЕ it reminded him of another product, exactly which he could not recall. It was only after he had signed and Icholtz was tearing loose his copy that he remembered.
The illegal hallucinogenic drug Can-D, used in the colonies in conjunction with the Perky Pat layouts.
He had an intuition compounded of deep unease. But it was too late to back out. Icholtz was gathering up the display case; the contents belonged to Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston, U.S.A., Terra, now.
УHowЦcan I get in touch with you?Ф Hnatt asked, as Icholtz started away from the table.
УYou wonТt be getting in touch with us. If we want you weТll call you.Ф Icholtz smiled briefly.

How in hell was he going to tell Emily? Hnatt counted the skins, read the contract, realized by degrees exactly how much Icholtz had paid him; it was enough to provide him and Emily with a five-day vacation in Antarctica, at one of the great, cool resort cities frequented by the rich of Terra, where no doubt Leo Bulero and others like him spent the summerЕ and these days summer lasted all year round.
OrЦhe pondered. It could do even more; it could get himself and his wife into the most exclusive establishment on the planetЦassuming he and Emily wanted it. They could fly to the Germanies and enter one of Dr. Willy DenkmalТs E Therapy clinics. Wowie, he thought.
He shut himself up in the barТs vidphone booth and called Emily. УPack your bag. WeТre going to Munich. ToЦФ He picked the name of a clinic at random; he had seen this one advertised in exclusive Paris magazines. УTo Eichenwald,Ф he told her. УDr. Denkmal isЦФ
УBarney took them,Ф Emily said.
УNo. But thereТs someone else in the field of minning, now, besides P. P. Layouts.Ф He felt elated. УSo Barney turned us down; so what? We did better with this new outfit; they must have plenty. IТll see you in half an hour; IТll arrange for accommodations on TWAТs express flight. Think of it: E Therapy for both of us.Ф
In a low voice Emily said, УIТm not sure I want to evolve, when it comes right down to it.Ф
Staggered, he said, УSure you do. I mean, it could save our lives, and if not ours then our kidsТЦour potential kids that we might be having, someday. And even if weТre only there a short time and only evolve a little, look at the doors itТll open to us; weТll be personae gratae everywhere. Do you personally know anyone whoТs had E Therapy? You read about so-and-so in the homeopapes all the time, society peopleЕ butЦФ
УI donТt want that hair all over me,Ф Emily said. УAnd I donТt want to have my head expand. No. I wonТt go to Eichenwald Clinic.Ф She sounded completely decided; her face was placid.
He said, УThen IТll go alone.Ф It would still be of economic value; after all, it was he who dealt with buyers. And he could stay at the clinic twice as long, evolve twice as muchЕ assuming that the treatments took. Some people did not respond, but that was hardly Dr. DenkmalТs fault; the capacity for evolution was not bestowed on everyone alike. About himself he felt certitude; heТd evolve remarkably, catch up with the big shots, even pass some of them, in terms of the familiar horny rind which Emily out of mistaken prejudice had called Уhair.Ф
УWhat am I supposed to do while youТre gone? Just make pots?Ф
УRight,Ф he said. Because orders would be arriving thick and fast; otherwise Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston would have no interest in the min. Obviously they employed their own Pre-Fash precogs as P. P. Layouts did. But then he remembered; Icholtz had said very little publicity at first. That meant, he realized, that the new firm had no network of disc jockeys circling the colony moons and planets; unlike P. P. Layouts, they had no Allen and Charlotte Faine to flash the news to.
But it took time to set up disc jockey satellites. This was natural.
And yet it made him uneasy. He thought all at once in panic, Could they be an illegal firm? Maybe Chew-Z, like Can-D, is banned; maybe IТve got us into something dangerous.
УChew-Z,Ф he said aloud to Emily. УEver heard of it?Ф
УNo.Ф
He got the contract out and once more examined it. What a mess, he thought. HowТd I get into it? If only that damn Mayerson had said yes on the potsЕ

At ten in the morning a terrific horn, familiar to him, hooted Sam Regan out of his sleep, and he cursed the UN ship upstairs; he knew the racket was deliberate. The ship, circling above the hovel Chicken Pox Prospects, wanted to be certain that colonistsЦand not merely indigenous animalsЦgot the parcels that were to be dropped.
WeТll get them, Sam Regan muttered to himself as he zipped his insulated overalls, put his feet into high boots, and then grumpily sauntered as slowly as possible toward the ramp.
УHeТs early today,Ф Tod Morris complained. УAnd IТll bet itТs all staples, sugar and food-basics like lardЦnothing interesting such as, say, candy.Ф
Putting his shoulders against the lid at the top of the ramp, Norman Schein pushed; bright cold sunlight spilled down on them and they blinked.
The UN ship sparkled overhead, set against the black sky as if hanging from an uneasy thread. Good pilot, this drop, Tod decided. Knows the Fineburg Crescent area. He waved at the UN ship and once more the huge horn burst out its din, making him clap his hands to his ears.
A projectile slid from the underpart of the ship, extended stabilizers, and spiraled toward the ground.
УSheoot,Ф Sam Regan said with disgust. УIt is staples; they donТt have the parachute.Ф He turned away, not interested.
How miserable the upstairs looked today, he thought as he surveyed the landscape of Mars. Dreary. Why did we come here? Had to, were forced to.
Already the UN projectile had landed; its hull cracked open, torn by the impact, and the three colonists could see canisters. It looked to be five hundred pounds of salt. Sam Regan felt even more despondent.
УHey,Ф Schein said, walking toward the projectile and peering. УI believe I see something we can use.Ф
УLooks like radios in those boxes,Ф Tod said. УTransistor radios.Ф Thoughtfully he followed after Schein. УMaybe we can use them for something new in our layouts.Ф
УMineТs already got a radio,Ф Schein said.
УWell, build an electronic self-directing lawn mower with the parts,Ф Tod said. УYou donТt have that, do you?Ф He knew the ScheinsТ Perky Pat layout fairly well; the two couples, he and his wife with Schein and his, had fused together a good deal, being compatible.
Sam Regan said, УDibs on the radios, because I can use them.Ф His layout lacked the automatic garage-door opener that both Schein and Tod had; he was considerably behind them. Of course all those items could be purchased. But he was out of skins. He had used his complete supply in the service of a need which he considered more pressing. He had, from a pusher, bought a fairly large quantity of Can-D; it was buried, hidden out of sight, in the earth under his sleep-compartment at the bottom level of their collective hovel.
He himself was a believer; he affirmed the miracle of translationЦthe near-sacred moment in which the miniature artifacts of the layout no longer merely represented Earth but became Earth. And he and the others, joined together in the fusion of doll-inhabitation by means of the Can-D, were transported outside of time and local space. Many of the colonists were as yet unbelievers; to them the layouts were merely symbols of a world which none of them could any longer experience. But, one by one, the unbelievers came around.
Even now, so early in the morning, he yearned to go back down below, chew a slice of Can-D from his hoard, and join with his fellows in the most solemn moment of which they were capable.
To Tod and Norm Schein he said, УEither of you care to seek transit?Ф That was the technical term they used for participation. УIТm going back below,Ф he said. УWe can use my Can-D; IТll share it with you.Ф
An inducement like that could not be ignored; both Tod and Norm looked tempted. УSo early?Ф Norm Schein said. УWe just got out of bed. But I guess thereТs nothing to do anyhow.Ф He kicked glumly at a huge semi-autonomic sand dredge; it had remained parked near the entrance of the hovel for days now. No one had the energy to come up to the surface and resume the clearing operations inaugurated earlier in the month. УIt seems wrong, though,Ф he muttered. УWe ought to be up here working in our gardens.Ф
УAnd thatТs some garden youТve got,Ф Sam Regan said, with a grin. УWhat is that stuff youТve got growing there? Got a name for it?Ф
Norm Schein, hands in the pockets of his coveralls, walked over the sandy, loose soil with its sparse vegetation to his once carefully maintained vegetable garden; he paused to look up and down the rows, hopeful that more of the specially prepared seeds had sprouted. None had.
УSwiss chard,Ф Tod said encouragingly. УRight? Mutated as it is, I can still recognize the leaves.Ф
Breaking off a leaf Norm chewed it, then spat it out; the leaf was bitter and coated with sand.
Now Helen Morris emerged from the hovel, shivering in the cold Martian sunlight. УWe have a question,Ф she said to the three men. УI say that psychoanalysts back on Earth were charging fifty dollars an hour and Fran says it was for only forty-five minutes.Ф She explained, УWe want to add an analyst to our layout and we want to get it right, because itТs an authentic item, made on Earth and shipped here, if you remember that Bulero ship that came by last weekЦФ