"Gordon R. Dickson - Idiot Solvant" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

better restaurants in town, or a 1954 used set of the Encyclopaedia
Britannica, or the parts from a mail-order house so that he could build
himself a little ocean-hopper shortwave receiver so that he could tune in on
foreign language broadcasts and practice understanding German, French,
and Italian.
Art sighed. He had long ago come to the conclusion that since the two
billion other people in the world could not very well all be out of step at the
same time, it was probably he who was the odd one. Nowadays he no
longer tried to fight the situation, but let himself reel uncertainly through life,
sustained by the vague, persistent conviction that somewhere, somehow, in
some strange fashion destiny would eventually be bound to call on him to
have a profound effect on his fellowmen.
It was a good twenty-minute walk to the university. Art scrambled lankily
to his feet, snatched an ancient leather jacket off the hook holding his
bagpipes, put his slide rule up on top of the poetry anthologies in the
bookcase so he would know where to find it again тАУ that being the most
unlikely place, Q.E.D. тАУ turned off his miniature electric furnace in which he
had been casting up a gold pawn for his chess set, left some bread and
peanut butter for his pet raccoon, now asleep in the wastebasket, and
hurried off, closing the door.


"There's one more," said Margie Hansen, Dr. Hank Rapp's lab assistant.
She hesitated. "I think you'd better see him." Hank looked up from his desk,
surprised. He was a short, cheerful, tough-faced man in his late thirties.
"Why?" he said. "Some difficulties? Don't sign him up if you don't want
to."
"No. No . . . I just think maybe you'd better talk to him. He passed the
physical all right. It's just . . . well, you have a look at him."
"I don't get it," said Hank. "But send him in."
She opened the door behind her and leaned out through it.
"Mr. Willoughby, will you come in now?" She stood aside and Art
entered. "This is Dr. Rapp, Mr: Willoughby. Doctor, this is Art Willoughby."
She went out rather hastily, closing the door behind her.
"Sit down," said Hank, automatically. Art sat down, and Hank blinked a
little at his visitor. The young man sitting opposite him resembled nothing
so much as an unbearded Abe Lincoln. A thin unbearded Abe Lincoln, if it
was possible to imagine our sixteenth President as being some thirty
pounds lighter than he actually had been.
"Are you a student at the university here?" asked Hank, staring at the
decrepit leather jacket.
"Well, yes," said Art, hoping the other would not ask him what college he
was in. He had been in six of them, from Theater Arts to Engineering. His
record in each was quite honorable. There was nothing to be ashamed of тАУ
it was just always a little bit difficult to explain.
"Well тАУ" said Hank. He saw now why Margie had hesitated. But if the man
was in good enough physical shape, there was no reason to refuse him.
Hank made up his mind. "Has the purpose of this test been explained to
you?"
"You're testing a new sort of stay-awake pill, aren't you?" said Art. "Your