"Frank Herbert - Direct Descent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

The dirty pack rats were home.


Director Caldwell Patterson of the Galactic Library sat at the desk in his
office deep in the planet, a sheet of metallic paper in his hands. He was an
old man even by Eighty-first Century standards when geriatrics made six
hundred years a commonplace. Some said he had been at the Library that long.
Gray hair clung in molting wisps to a pale pate. His face had the leathery,
hook-nosed appearance of an ancient bird.
As Coogan entered the office, a desk visor in front of Patterson chimed. The
director clicked a switch, motioned Coogan to a chair and said, "Yes," with a
tired, resigned air.

Coogan folded his tall frame into the chair and listened with half his mind to
the conversation on the visor. It seemed some outworld ship was approaching
and wanted special landing facilities. Coogan looked around the familiar
office. Behind the director was a wall of panels, dials, switches, rheostats,
speakers, microphones, oscillographs, code keys, screens. The two side walls
were focus rhomboids for realized images. The wall which was split by the
door held eight miniature viewscreens all tuned to separate channels of the
Library information broadcasts. All sound switches had been turned to mute,
leaving a continuous low murmur in the room.

Patterson began drumming his fingers on the desk top, glaring at the desk
visor. Presently, he said, "Well, tell them we have no facilities for an
honor reception. This planet is devoted to knowledge and research. Tell them
to come in at the regular field. I'll obey my Code and any government order
of which I'm capable, but we simply don't have the facilities for what they're
asking." The director cut the switch on his visor, turned to Coogan. "Well,
Vincent, I see you avoided the Hesperides green rot. Now I presume you're
anxious to learn why I called you back from there?"

Same old didactic, pompous humbug, thought Coogan. He said, "I'm not exactly
a robot," and shaped his mouth in a brief, wry smile.

A frown formed on Patterson's bluish lips. "We've a new government," he said.

"Is that why you called me in?" asked Coogan. He felt an upsurge of all the
resentment he'd swallowed when he'd received the call-back message.

"In a way, yes," said Patterson. "The new government is going to censor all
Library broadcasts. The censor is on that ship just landing."

"They can't do that!" blurted Coogan. "The Charter expressly forbids chosen
broadcasts or any interference with Library function! I can quote you --"

Patterson interrupted him in a low voice. "What is the first rule of the
Library Code?"

Coogan faltered, stared at the director. He said, "Well --" paused while the