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

nurse told me all about it."
"Lab assistant," corrected Hank automatically. "There's no reason you
can think of yourself, is there, why you shouldn't be one of the volunteers?"
"Well, no. I . . . I don't usually sleep much," said Art, painfully.
"That's no barrier." Hank smiled. "We'll just keep you awake until you get
tired. How much do you sleep?" he asked, to put the younger man at his
ease at least a little.
"Oh . . . six or seven hours."
"That's a little less than average. Nothing to get in our way . . . why, what's
wrong?" said Hank, sitting up suddenly, for Art was literally struggling with
his conscience, and his Abe Lincoln face was twisted unhappily.
"A . . . a week," blurted Art.
"A week! Are you тАУ" Hank broke off, took a good look at his visitor and
decided he was not kidding. Or at least, believed himself that he was not
kidding. "You mean, less than an hour a night?"
"Well, I usually wait to the end of the week тАУ Sunday morning's a good
time. Everybody else is sleeping then, anyway. I get it over all at once тАУ" Art
leaned forward and put both his long hands on Hank's desk, pleadingly.
"But can't you test me, anyway, Doctor? I need this job. Really, I'm
desperate. If you could use me as a control, or something тАУ"
"Don't worry," said Hank, grimly. "You've got the job. In fact if what you
say is true, you've got more of a job than the rest of the volunteers. This is
something we're all going to want to see!"


"Well," said Hank, ten days later. "Willoughby surely wasn't kidding."
Hank was talking to Dr. Arlie Bohn, of the Department of Psychology.
Arlie matched Hank's short height, but outdid him otherwise to the tune of
some fifty pounds and fifteen years. They were sitting in Hank's office,
smoking cigarettes over the remains of their bag lunches.
"You don't think so?" said Arlie, lifting blond eyebrows toward his
half-bare, round skull.
"Arlie! Ten days!"
"And no hallucinations?"
"None"
"Thinks his nurses are out to poison him? Doesn't trust the door janitor?"
"No. No. No!"
Arlie blew out a fat wad of smoke. "I don't believe it," he announced.
"I beg your pardon!"
"Oh тАУ not you, Hank. No insults intended. But this boy of yours is running
some kind of a con. Sneaking some sort of stimulant when you aren't
looking."
"Why would he do that? We'd be glad to give him all the stimulants he
wants. He won't take them. And even if he was sneaking something тАУ ten
days. Arlie! Ten days and he looks as if he just got up after a good eight
hours in his own bed." Hank smashed his half-smoked cigarette out in the
ashtray. "He's not cheating. He's a freak."
"You can't be that much of a freak."
"Oh, can't you?" said Hank. "Let me tell you some more about him. Usual
body temperature тАУ about one degree above normal average."