"Mel Gilden - Zoot Marlow 3 - Tubular Android Superheroes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilden Mel)

but they were a little flashier about it than I am.
Since I'd solved the case, I'd been a busy guy, oh yes I had. What with eating pizza and drinking
brewski and surfing my surf-bot by remote control, I don't know when I found time to think. Actually, I
hadn't done much thinking lately.
I was filling time by sitting on the slouching couch in Whipper Will's living room spooning yoyogurt
into my mouth. It was oat-bran flavor, the favorite that week. Whipper Will made the stuff himself in a
special clean room at the back of the house.
The yoyogurt accounted for the halo of rainbows that surrounded everything, including the TV set and
the Gino and Darlene movie it was showing. Surfers sprawled around the room, lively as moss. They ate
yoyogurt and demonstrated varying degrees of interest in helping me watch the movie. At the moment,
Gino was crooning a ballad to Darlene; it was called "Surfing the Stars" and was even sappier than it
sounded.
Next to me on the couch was Bill, a silver robot in the shape of a duck. His legs lay straight out on the
cushionтАФthey didn't reach far enough to dangle. He came up only to where my navel would have been if
I'd had one. It seemed to be only fair. We should all come up to each other's navels. (That was the
yoyogurt talking.) Bill wasn't eating yoyogurt because he didn't eat.
I put down my bowl. I'd had enough yoyogurt. If the truth were known, I'd had enough of trouble and
of surfers and of the wildly entertaining planet Earth. My sneeve was loaded with chocolate-covered
coffee beans. For the moment, the only thing keeping me on the couch was inertia. I said, "Come on, Bill.
I'd like to see you in my private office."
"Sure, Boss," he said and leapt to the floor. I stood up, not quite so steady as he because of the
yoyogurt, and walked back along the dark hallway to the bedroom that Whipper Will shared with his
girlfriend, Bingo. The bedroom smelled of humans and unwashed laundry, neither of which was a
surprise. I led Bill around piles of linen in various states of cleanliness and told him to stand in the back of
the closet.
"Right away, Boss." Though Bill was only circuits in a fancy box, I felt sorry for him, he was so eager.
I said, "I'm going home, Bill."
"Bay City?" He chuckled.
"Home," I said, and he nodded. I slapped a piece of flypaper on the top of Bill's head and the lights in
his eyes went out. I turned him off every time I left Malibu for longer than a few hours. He didn't mind,
and it kept me from worrying too much. I worried anyway. You never knew when one of the surfers
might suddenly need something in the back of Whipper Will's closet.
I took off my brown double-breasted suit, my fedora, the rest of my Earth clothes, and hung them
neatly in front of Bill. I put on my short Johns, the rubber making a squeaky noise against my skin. I
saluted Bill and walked through the house, not swaying much.
" 'Bye, dudes," I said to the surfers in the living room.
"Get down, Zoot!" Thumper cried with enthusiasm. He was the tallest of the surfers and made vague
motions of being in charge when Whipper Will wasn't around, but generally he found leadership a bother.
I waved, then went out through the kitchen door, across the tiny brick yard, across the public
walkway, and out onto the sand. The day was hot, and the beach was carpeted from horizon to horizon
with blankets and towels. I could feel the heat pulling the effects of the yoyogurt out through my skin. The
rainbows were fading.
Kids ran around, seemingly oblivious to the hot sand. Older folksтАФsome maybe old enough to be in
high schoolтАФstrolled by holding hands or eating, sometimes showing a lot of talent and doing both at
once. Most of the humans were lying on the beach, baking. Some were done. Others were only
half-baked. That was a joke. If Bill were here, he probably would have made it himself. Or laughed. He
was a handy audience.
Feeling steadier by the moment, I walked along the narrow slits of hot sand that showed between
blankets, not attracting much attention. Whiffs of tanning lotion, sweat, and fast food pummeled me. I
stopped at the high-tide line and watched the water sparkle as it rose and fell, heaving waves at the