"Dick, Philip K - We Can Remember It For You Wholesale UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

and said into it, "Mr. Douglas Quail is here, Mr. McClane.
May he come inside, now? Or is it too soon?"
"Giz wetwa wum-wum wamp," the phone mumbled.
"Yes, Mr. Quail," she said. "You may go on in; Mr.
McClane is expecting you." As he started off uncertainly she
called after him, "Room D, Mr. Quail. To your right."
After a frustrating but brief moment of being lost he found
the proper room. The door hung open and inside, at a big
genuine walnut desk, sat a genial-looking man, middle-aged,
wearing the latest Martian frog-pelt gray suit; his attire alone
would have told Quail that he had come to the right person.
"Sit down, Douglas," McClane said, waving his plump
hand toward a chair which faced the desk. "So you want to
have gone to Mars. Very good."
Quail seated himself, feeling tense. "I'm not so sure this is
worth the fee," he said. "It costs a lot and as far as I can see I
really get nothing." Costs almost as much as going, he
thought.
"You get tangible proof of your trip," McClane disagreed
emphatically. "All the proof you'll need. Here; I'll show you."
He dug within a drawer of his impressive desk. "Ticket stub."
Reaching into a manila folder he produced a small square of
embossed cardboard. "It proves you wentand returned.
Postcards." He laid out four franked picture 3-D full-color
postcards in a neatly-arranged row on the desk for Quail to
see. "Film. Shots you took of local sights on Mars with a
rented movie camera." To Quail he displayed those, too.
"Plus the names of people you met, two hundred poscreds
worth of souvenirs, which will arrivefrom Marswithin
the following month. And passport, certificates listing the
shots you received. And more." He glanced up keenly at
Quail. "You'll know you went, all right," he said. "You won't
remember us, won't remember me or ever having been here.
It'll be a real trip in your mind; we guarantee that. A full two
weeks of recall; every last piddling detail. Remember this: if
at any time you doubt that you really took an extensive trip to
Mars you can return here and get a full refund. You see?"
"But I didn't go," Quail said. "I won't have gone, no matter
what proofs you provide me with." He took a deep, unsteady
breath. "And I never was a secret agent with Interplan." It
seemed impossible to him that Rekal, Incorporated's extra-
factual memory implant would do its jobdespite what he
had heard people say.
"Mr. Quail," McClane said patiently. "As you explained in
your letter to us, you have no chance, no possibility in the
slightest, of ever actually getting to Mars; you can't afford it,
and what is much more important, you could never qualify as
an undercover agent for Interplan or anybody -else. This is the
only way you can achieve your, ahem, life-long dream; am I
not correct, sir? You can't be this; you can't actually do this."