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

He chuckled. "But you can have been and have done. We see
to that. And our fee is reasonable; no hidden charges." He
smiled encouragingly.
"Is an extra-factual memory that convincing?" Quail asked.
"More than the real thing, sir. Had you really gone to Mars
as an Interplan agent, you would by now have forgotten a
great deal; our analysis of true-mem systemsauthentic rec-
ollections of major events in a person's lifeshows that a
variety of details are very quickly lost to the person. Forever.
Part of the package we offer you is such deep implantation of
recall that nothing is forgotten. The packet which is fed to
you while you're comatose is the creation of trained experts,
men who have spent years on Mars; in every case we verify
details down to the last iota. And you've picked a rather easy
extra-factual system; had you picked Pluto or wanted to be
Emperor of the Inner Planet Alliance we'd have much more
difficulty . . . and the charges would be considerably greater."
Reaching into his coat for his wallet, Quail said, "Okay. It's
been my life-long ambition and I can see I'll never really do
it. So I guess I'll have to settle for this."
"Don't think of it that way," McClane said severely.
"You're not accepting second-best. The actual memory, with
all its vagueness, omissions and ellipses, not to say distortions
that's second-best." He accepted the money and pressed a
button on his desk. "All right, Mr. Quail," he said, as the door
of his office opened and two burly men swiftly entered.
"You're on your way to Mars as a secret agent." He rose,
came over to shake Quail's nervous, moist hand. "Or rather,
you have been on your way. This afternoon at four-thirty you
will, urn, arrive back here on Terra; a cab will leave you off at
your conapt and as I say you will never remember seeing me
or coming here; you won't, in fact, even remember having
heard of our existence."
His mouth dry with nervousness, Quail followed the two
technicians from the office; what happened next depended on
them.
Will I actually believe I've been on Mars? he wondered.
That I managed to fulfill my lifetime ambition? He had a
strange, lingering intuition that something would go wrong.
But just whathe did not know.
He would have to wait to find out.
The intercom on McClane's desk, which connected him
with the work area of the firm, buzzed and a voice said, "Mr.
Quail is under sedation now, sir. Do you want to supervise
this one, or shall we go ahead?"
"It's routine," McClane observed. "You may go ahead,
Lowe; I don't think you'll run into any trouble." Program-
ming an artificial memory of a trip to another planetwith or
without the added fillip of being a secret agentshowed up
on the firm's work-schedule with monotonous regularity. In