"Robert A. Heinlein - Assignment in eternity (Collected Storie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

GULF
THE FIRST-QUARTER ROCKET from Moonbase put him down at Pied-a-
Terre. The name he was traveling under began-by foresight-with the letter
тАЬAтАЭ; he was through port inspection and into the shuttle tube to the city
ahead of the throng. Once in the tube car he went to the menтАЩs washroom
and locked himself in.
Quickly he buckled on the safety belt he found there, snapped its hooks to
the wall fixtures, and leaned over awkwardly to remove a razor from his
bag. The surge caught him in that position; despite the safety belt he
bumped his head-and swore. He straightened up and plugged in the razor.
His moustache vanished; he shortened his sideburns, trimmed the comers
of his eyebrows, and brushed them up.
He towelled his hair vigorously to remove the oil that had sleeked it down,
combed it loosely into a wavy mane. The car was now riding in a smooth,
unaccelerated 300 mph; he let himself out of the safety belt without
unhooking it from the walls and, working very rapidly, peeled off his
moonsuit, took from his bag and put on a tweedy casual outfit suited to
outdoors on Earth and quite unsuited to Moon ColonyтАЩs air-conditioned
corridors.
His slippers he replaced with walking shoes from the bag; he stood up. Joel
Abner, commercial traveler, had disappeared; in his place was Captain
Joseph Gilead, explorer, lecturer, and writer. Of both names he was the
sole user; neither was his birth name.
He slashed the moonsuit to ribbons and flushed it down the water closet,
added тАЬJoel AbnerтАЩsтАЭ identification card; then peeled a plastic skin off his
travel bag and let the bits follow the rest- The bag was now pearl grey and
rough, instead of dark brown and smooth. The slippers bothered him; he
was afraid they might stop up the carтАЩs plumbing. He contented himself with
burying them in the waste receptacle.
The acceleration warning sounded as he was doing this; he barely had time
to get back into the belt. But, as the car plunged into the solenoid field and
surged to a stop, nothing remained of Joel Abner but some unmarked
underclothing, very ordinary toilet articles, and nearly two dozen spools of
microfilm equally appropriate-until examined-to a commercial traveler or a
lecturer-writer. He planned not to let them be examined as long as he was
alive.



1
He waited in the washroom until he was sure of being last man out of the
car, then went forward in- to the next car, left by its exit, and headed for the
lift to the ground level.
тАЬNew Age Hotel, sir,тАЭ a voice pleaded near his ear. He felt a hand fumbling
at the grip of his travel bag.
He repressed a reflex to defend the bag and looked the speaker over. At
first glance he seemed an under- sized adolescent in a smart uniform and a
pillbox cap. Further inspection showed premature wrinkles and the features
of a man at least forty. The eyes were glazed. A pituitary case, he thought
to himself, and on the hop as well. тАЬNew Age Hotel,тАЭ the runner repeated.