"Fontana,.D.C.-.Questor.Tapes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fontana D C)

She sighed. "All right. Seven pounds. But only because it's a slow day."
"But surely seven pounds would not cause the day to pass any faster."
She rolled her eyes up to heave a. Why? Why did this kind have to wander down her side of the street? Maybe if she explained. She beckoned him closer and reached up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. Then she stepped back
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and smiled winningly. "You have to admit I'm pretty good-looking."
"My standards of comparison are limited, madam, but you seem quite handsome. However-"
She interrupted flatly. "Five pounds. That's as far as I can go."
"I am sure you must be correct, but as for your suggestion, I suspect there might be some technical difficulties. Still, our conversation has been most illuminating. Good day." He politely inclined his head and walked on.
The woman stared at him, her mouth starting to sag open. Then she cast a quick scan over herself in a storefront mirror. Her makeup was perfect, her hair was combed, the clothes did all the right things for her figure or vice versa. What was wrong with him? "Americans," she sniffed, but she looked after his retreating back wistfully and wondered what would have happened if she'd had no price on her.
Francis Scott Campbell had seldom been surprised in his career. Events followed perfectly predictable and totally reasonable patterns, and he preferred it that way. His absolute calm had not been shaken even by the retreat from Dunkirk or the collapse of a house around him in the blitz. But the strangely dressed American he saw approaching his office for the second time that day had rattled him to his core. He struggled to his feet as Questor entered. "Mr. Questor... I..."
"Do you have it?"
Campbell turned to a wall safe behind his desk and worked the combination with trembling fingers. "You understand this is quite unprecedented in the annals of our stock exchange."
"Precedents are interesting, but not of immediate importance, Mr. Campbell," Questor said. "You have the entire amount in cash?"
"As requested." Campbell opened the safe and drew out a long, slim metal box. He set it on his desk and opened it to reveal neat packets of pound notes. "Three hundred thousand pounds."
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"Plus seven hundred fifty-two, I believe," Questor said.
Campbell paused in taking the sheaves of notes from the box and stared at him. "Yes, precisely. Would you mind telling me--?"
"Fascinating hobby, mathematics," Questor said quickly. "I will take fifty thousand with me. It will be necessary for other business I must transact." He reached into his breast pocket and drew out another carefully printed list. "You will retain the balance and reinvest it according to these instructions. You will conduct each transaction at the exact hour and day prescribed."
Campbell took the proffered list and glanced over it. He had never seen such an assortment of proposed transactions, obscure stocks and well-known ones. There did not seem to be a system. "Mr. Questor, would you mind telling me how you .. . how you..."
"I thought about it," Questor answered vaguely.
Campbell sat down heavily behind his desk. Forty years in this business had not given him the incredible insight this strange American had. It was uncanny-and illogical -but it worked.
Questor gathered up his fifty thousand pounds and placed the rest of the money in Campbell's box. "I trust your fee in these transactions is recompense enough for the trouble of being so extremely correct and careful?"
"Oh, the commission is most equitable, sir."
"Good." Questor nodded. "You will continue as instructed until you hear from me." He tucked the money in his pocket, shook hands with Campbell, and left. Francis Scott Campbell was sure he would never have a more naive client-nor a more successful one.
Jerry Robinson woke from his deep sleep and tried to roll over. It was impossible; something held his left arm securely. He peered at his wrist and made out the handcuff Questor had devised. "Questor!" he shouted. He tried to wriggle around on the bed to get into a position to free himself, but this, too, was impossible. "Questor!"
The door opened with a rattle of the key, and the android stepped inside. "A little less noise, please, Mr.
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Robinson. We do not wish to draw attention to ourselves."
"Let me out of this ... thing."
"Of course." Questor moved to the side of the bed and effortlessly bent back the piece of metal, freeing Jerry's wrist. Jerry rubbed his arm briskly, trying to restore circulation, as Questor straightened the metal and pushed it into its former position. "I am truly sorry if I caused you any discomfort. I trust you understand my position."
"Your position! What about the one you left me hi? I may never use my arm again." He stood up, angry and annoyed, moving his arm around to work out the stiffness. "Where have you been?"
"I had a commercial transaction to complete-and I took several hours to study the rather peculiar ways of the human species."
"Did it ever occur to you that you might be considered pretty peculiar yourself?"
"That would depend upon the standard of comparison, Mr. Robinson."
Jerry stopped rubbing his arm and stared at Questor. Why did the android have to be so damn logical all the tune? But, of course, he was programmed to be just that. More and more often, Jerry was overlooking the fact that Questor was a machine. Still, he said things Jerry could not afford to overlook. "Questor, you said something about commercial transactions?"
"Yes. I invested some of our casino winnings in the stock market."
Jerry sat down abruptly, his knees weak. "The stock market?"
"Yes. A rather fascinating enterprise I would like to study further. However, for our purposes, only a brief review of its general principles was necessary."
"I see. How much . . ." Jerry paused, afraid to go further, but he had to. "How much did you invest?"
"All of it, except for the taxi fare I paid to get to the stock exchange."
"How much did you lose?"
"Ah, Mr. Robinson, you have so little faith in your
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creation. The profit came to over three hundred thousand pounds, most of which I have reinvested for our future use." He brought out the two packets of pound notes and held them out to Jerry. "We will have need of this fifty thousand pounds for expenses. I believe you should handle it."
Jerry took the money cautiously, as if afraid it would dissolve in his hands. When it did not, he tucked it away in his breast pocket. "You know something, Questor . . . I wish I had created you instead of merely following the blueprints."
"Why do you say that?"
"You're, well, you'rs a fine piece of work."
Questor nodded. "I am gratified you agree I am functioning well. It is difficult for me to know at tunes."
"Me, too, Questor." He sighed a little and stretched. "What's next?"
"I believe a trip to the country is in order."