"The World Jones Made" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

"Sure," Jones agreed. "When I was a kid I liked it, too. But I'm not a kid any more. I want to live like everybody else--an ordinary life. I didn't ask for this; it wasn't my idea."

"It's a valuable talent," Kaminski said shrewdly. "As Pearson says, a man who can shout out the dialogue a split second ahead of time has real power. He's a whole notch above the rest of the crowd."

"The thing I remember," Pearson said, "is the contempt I felt for all the rapt faces. The fools--staring, simpering, giggling, being afraid, believing in it, wondering how it would come out. And I knew. It made me disgusted. That's partly why I shouted it out."

Jones didn't comment. Brooding, he sat hunched over in his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.

"How would you like a job?" Kaminski inquired drily. "Senior Political Instructor to the Senior Political Instructor."

"No thanks."

"You could be a lot of help," Pearson pointed out. "You could aid reconstruction. You could help us unify ourselves and our resources. You could make an important difference."

Jones shot him an exasperated glare. "There's only one issue of importance. This reconstruction--" He waved his thin, bony hand impatiently. "You're wasting your time . . . it's the drifters that matter."

"Why?" Cussick demanded.

"Because there's a whole universe! You spend your time rebuilding this planet--my God, we could have a million planets. New planets, untouched planets. Systems of them. Endless resources . . . and you sit around trying to re-melt old scrap. Pack rats, misers, hoarding and fingering your miserable pile." Disgusted, he turned away. "We're over-populated. We're under-nourished. One more habitable world would solve all that."

"Like Mars?" Cussick inquired softly. "Like Venus? Dead, empty, hostile worlds."

"I don't mean those."

"What do you mean, then? We've got scouts crawling all around the system. Show us one place we can live."

"Not here." Angrily, Jones dismissed the solar system. "I mean out there. Centaurus. Or Sirius. Any of them."

"Are they necessarily any better?"

"Intersystem colonization is possible," Jones answered, "Why do you think the drifters are here? It's obvious--they're settling. They're doing what we should be doing: they're out searching for habitable planets. They may have come millions of light years."

"Your answer isn't good enough," Kaminski pronounced.

"It's good enough for me," Jones said.

"I know." Kaminski nodded, troubled. "That's what worries me."

Curiously, Pearson asked: "Do you know anything more about the drifters? Who shows up in the next year?"

Across Jones' face settled a stark, impassioned glaze. "That's why I'm a minister," he said harshly.

The three secret-servicemen waited, but there was nothing more. Drifters was a key word with Jones; visibly, the word triggered off something deep and basic inside him. Something that made his gaunt face writhe. A core of blazing fervor had floated to the surface.

"You don't particularly like them," Cussick observed.

"Like them?" Jones looked ready to explode. "Drifters? Alien life-forms coming here, settling on our planets?" His voice rose to a shrill, hysterical screech. "Can't you see what's happening? How long do you think they'll leave us alone? Eight dead worlds--nothing but rock. And Earth: the only useful one. Don't you see? They're preparing to attack us; they're using Mars and Venus as bases. It's Earth they're after; who'd want those empty wastes?"

"Maybe they do," Pearson suggested uneasily. "As you said, they're alien life forms. Maybe to them Earth is nothing. Maybe they need totally different living-conditions."