"Dick, Philip K - Vulcan's Hammer v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

At Dill's car she saw the Fields girl. The small shape, wearing a coat, the bright red hair shimmering in the sun . .. and then an official of Dill's staff had boosted the child into the back of the car. Dill got in too, and the doors slammed. The car drove off. On the playground, a group of children had gathered by the high wire fence to wave.
Still trembling, Mrs. Parker made her way back up the corridor to her own classroom. Is my job safe? she asked herself. Will I be investigated, or can I believe him? After all, he did give me his absolute assurance, and no one can contradict him. I know my record is clear, she thought desperately. I've never done anything subversive; I asked not to have that child in my class, and I never discuss current events in the classroom; I've never slipped once. But suppose-
Suddenly, at the corner of her eye, something moved.
She halted rigid where she was. A flicker of motion. Now gone. What was it? A deep, intuitive dread filled her; something had been there, near her, unobserved. Now swiftly vanished-she had caught only the most indistinct glimpse.
Spying on her! Some mechanism overhearing her. She was being watched. Not just the children, she thought in terror. But us, too. They have us watched, and I never knew for sure; I only guessed.
Could it read my thoughts? she asked herself. No, nothing can read thoughts. And I wasn't saying anything aloud. She looked up and down the corridor, striving to make out what it had been.
Who does it report to? she wondered. The police? Will they come and get me, take me to Atlanta or some place like that?
Gasping with fear, she managed to open the door of her classroom and enter.
CHAPTER 3
The unity control building filled virtually the whole business area of Geneva, a great imposing square of white concrete and steel. Its endless rows of windows glittered in the later afternoon sun; lawns and shrubs surrounded the structure on all sides; gray-clad men and women hurried up the wide marble steps and through the doors.
Jason Dill's car pulled up at the guarded Director's entrance. He stepped quickly out and held the door open, "Come along," he said.
For a moment Marion Fields remained in the car, unwilling to leave. The leather seats had given her a sense of security, and she sat looking out at the man standing on the sidewalk, trying to control her fear of him. The man smiled at her, but she had no confidence in the smile; she had seen it too many times on the public television. It was too much a part of the world that she had been taught to distrust.
"Why?" she said. "What are you going to do?" But at last she slid slowly from the car onto the pavement. She was not sure where she was; the rapid trip had confused her.
"I'm sorry you had to leave your possessions behind," Dill said to her. He took hold of her hand and led her firmly up the steps of the great building. "We'll replace them," he said. "And we'll see that you have a pleasant time here with us; I promise you, on my word of honor." He glanced down to see how she was taking it.
The long echoing hall stretched out ahead of them, lit by recessed lights. Distant figures, tiny human shapes, scampered back and forth from one office to another. To the girl, it was like an even larger school; it was everything she had been subjected to but on a much larger scale.
"I want to go home," she said,
"This way," Dill said in a cheerful voice, as he guided her along. "You won't be lonely because there are a lot of nice people who work here who have children of their own, girls of their own. And they'll be glad to bring their children by so you can have someone to play with. Won't that be nice?"
"You can tell them," she said.
"Tell them what?" Dill said, as he turned down a side passage. "To bring their children, And they will. Because you're the boss." She gazed up at him, and saw, for an instant, his composure depart. But almost at once he was smiling again. "Why do you always smile?" she said. "Aren't things ever bad, or aren't you able to admit it when they're bad? On the television you always say things are fine. Why don't you tell the truth?" She asked these questions with curiosity; it did not make sense to her. Surely he knew that he never told the truth.
"You know what I think's wrong with you, young woman?" Dill said. "I don't really think you're such a troublemaker as you pretend." He opened the door to an office. "I think you just worry too much." As he ushered her inside he said, "You should be like other children. Play more healthy outdoor games. Don't do so much thinking off by yourself. Isn't that what you do? Go off by yourself somewhere and brood?"
She had to nod in agreement. It was true.
Dill patted her on the shoulder. "You and I are going to get along fine," he said. "You know, I have two children of my own-a goot bit older than you, though."
"I know," she said. "One's a boy and he's in the police youth, and your girl Joan is in the girls' army school in Boston. I read about it in a magazine they give us at school to read."
"Oh, yes," Dill murmured. "World Today. Do you like to read it?"
"No," she said. "It tells more lies even than you."
After that, the man said nothing; he concerned himself with papers on his desk, and left her to stand by herself.
"I'm sorry you don't like our magazine," he said finally, in a preoccupied voice. "Unity goes to a great deal of trouble to put it out. By the way. Who told you to say that about Unity? Who taught you?"
"Nobody taught me."
"Not even your father?"
She said, "Do you know you're shorter than you look on television? Do they do that on purpose? Try to make you look bigger to impress people?"
To that, Dill said nothing. At his desk he had turned on a little machine; she saw lights flash.
"That's recording," she said.
Dill said, "Have you had a visit from your dad since his escape from Atlanta?"
"No," she said.
"Do you know what sort of place Atlanta is?"
"No," she said. But she did know. He stared at her, trying to see if she was lying, but she returned his stare. "It's a prison," she said at last. "Where they send men who speak their mind."
"No," Dill said. "It's a hospital. For mentally unbalanced people. It's a place where they get well."
In a low, steady voice, she said, "You're a liar."
"It's a psychological therapy place," Dill said, "Your father was-upset. He imagined all sorts of things that weren't so. There evidently were pressures on him too strong for him to bear, and so like a lot of perfectly normal people he cracked under the pressure."
"Did you ever meet him?"
Dill admitted, "No. But I have his record here." He. showed her a great mass of documents that lay before him.
"They cured him at that place?" Marion asked.
"Yes," Dill said. But then he frowned. "No, I beg your pardon. He was too ill to be given therapy. And I see he managed to keep himself ill the entire two months he was there."
"So he isn't cured," she said. "He's still upset, isn't he?"
Dill said, "The Healers. What's your father's relationship to them?"
"I don't know."
Dill seated himself and leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "Isn't it a little silly, those things you said? Overthrowing God . . . somebody has told you we were better off in the old days, before Unity, when we had war every twenty years." He pondered. "I wonder how the Healers got their name. Do you know?"
"No," she said.
"Didn't your father tell you?"
"No."