"Henry Kuttner - Gallegher Plus UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

"Listen, Narcissus," Gallegher said, keeping a grip on himself. "I'm trying to find out something. Can the planes of your blasted functional brain follow that?"

"Certainly," Narcissus said coldly. "I can't help you. You turned me on again this morning and fell into a drunken slumber. Trie machine was already finished. It wasn't in operation. I cleaned house and kindly brought you beer when you woke up with your usual hangover."

"Then kindly bring me some more and shut up."

"What about the policeman?"

"Oh, I forgot him. Uh ... I'd better see the guy, I suppose."

Narcissus retreated on softly padding feet. Gallegher shivered, went to the window, and looked out at that incredible hole. Why? How? He ransacked his brain. No use, of course. His subconscious had the answer, but it was locked up there firmly. At any rate, he wouldn't have built the machine without some good reason. Or would he? His subconscious possessed a peculiar, distorted sort of logic. Narcissus had originally been intended as a super beer-can opener.

A muscular young man in a dapper uniform came in after the robot. "Mr. Gallegher?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Mr. Galloway Gallegher?"

"The answer's still 'yeah.' What can I do for you?"

"You can accept this summons," said the cop. He gave Gallegher a folded paper.

The maze of intricate legal phraseology made little sense to Gallegher. "Who's Dell Hopper?" he asked. "I never heard of him."

"It's not my pie," the officer grunted. "I've served the summons; that's as far as I go."

He went out. Gallegher peered at the paper. It told him

little.

Finally, for lack of something better to do, he televised an attorney, got in touch with the bureau of legal records, and found the name of Hopper's lawyer, a man named Trench. A corporation lawyer at that. Trench had a battery of secretaries to take calls, but by dint of threats, curses and pleas Gallegher got through to the great man

himself.

On the telescreen Trench showed as a gray, thin, dry man with a clipped mustache. His voice was file-sharp.

"Mr. Gallegher? Yes?"

"Look," Gallegher said, "I just had a summons served on me."

"Ah, you have it, then. Good."

"What do you mean, good? I haven't the least idea what this is all about."

"Indeed," Trench said skeptically. "Perhaps I can refresh your memory. My client, who is soft-hearted, is not prosecuting you for slander, threat of bodily harm, or assault and battery. He just wants his money backЧ or else value received."

Gallegher closed his eyes and shuddered. "H-he does? I... ah ... did I slander him?"

"You called him," said Trench, referring to a bulky file, "a duck-footed cockroach, a foul-smelling Neander-thaler, and either a dirty cow or a dirty cao. Both are terms of opprobium. You also kicked him."