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

one month, he calculated wryly, we must do twenty of these
... ersatz interplanetary travel has become our bread and
butter.
"Whatever you say, Mr. McClane," Lowe's voice came,
and thereupon the intercom shut off.
Going to the vault section in the chamber behind his office,
McClane searched about for a Three packettrip to Mars
and a Sixty-two packet: secret Interplan spy. Finding the two
packets, he returned with them to his desk, seated himself
comfortably, poured out the contentsmerchandise which
would be planted in Quail's conapt while the lab technicians
busied themselves installing the false memory.
A one-poscred sneaky-pete side arm, McClane reflected;
that's the largest item. Sets us back financially the most. Then
a pellet-sized transmitter, which could be swallowed if the
agent were caught. Code book that astonishingly resembled
the real thing... the firm's models were highly accurate:
based, whenever possible, on actual U.S. military issue. Odd
bits which made no intrinsic sense but which would be woven
into the warp and woof of Quail's imaginary trip, would
coincide with his memory: half an ancient silver fifty cent
piece, several quotations from John Donne's sermons written
incorrectly, each on a separate piece of transparent tissue-
thin paper, several match folders from bars on Mars, a stain-
less steel spoon engraved PROPERTY OF DOME-MARS
NATIONAL KIBBUZIM, a wire tapping coil which
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. McClane, I'm sorry to bother
you but something rather ominous has come up. Maybe it
would be better if you were in here after all. Quail is already
under sedation; he reacted well to the narkidrine; he's com-
pletely unconscious and receptive. But"
"I'll be in." Sensing trouble, McClane left his office; a
moment later he emerged in the work area.
On a hygienic bed lay Douglas Quail, breathing slowly and
regularly, his eyes virtually shut; he seemed dimlybut only
dimlyaware of the two technicians and now McClane
himself.
"There's no space to insert false memory-patterns?"
McClane felt irritation. "Merely drop out two work weeks;
he's employed as a clerk at the West Coast Emigration
Bureau, which is a government agency, so he undoubtedly has
or had two weeks vacation within the last year. That ought to
do it." Petty details annoyed him. And always would.
"Our problem," Lowe said sharply, "is something quite
different." He bent over the bed, said to Quail, "Tell Mr.
McClane what you told us." To McClane he said, "Listen
closely."
The gray-green eyes of the man lying supine in the bed
focussed on McClane's face. The eyes, he observed uneasily,
had become hard; they had a polished, inorganic quality, like