"Henry Kuttner - The Ego Machine " - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

"Oh, this is outrageous," Erika said. "Some day St. Cyr's going to go too farтАФ"
"Not while he's got DeeDee behind him," Martin said gloomily. Summit Studios would sooner have made
a film promoting atheism than offend their top box-office star, DeeDee Fleming. Even Tolh'ver Watt, who
owned Summit lock, stock and barrel, spent wakeful nights because
St. Cyr refused to let the lovely DeeDee sign a long-term contract.
"Nevertheless, Watt's no fool," Erika said. "I still think we could get him to give you a contract release if
we could make him realize what a rotten investment you are. There isn't much time, though."
"Why not?" .r
"I told youтАФott. Of course you don't know. He's leaving for Paris tomorrow morning."
Martin moaned. "Then I'm doomed," he said. "They'll pick up my option automatically next week and I'll
never draw a free breath again. Erika, do something!"
"I'm going to," Erika said. "That's exactly what I want to see you about. Ah," she added suddenly, "now I
understand why St. Cyr stopped my message. He was afraid. Nick, do you know what we've got to do?"
"See Watt?" Nick hazarded unhappily. "But ErikaтАФ"
"See Watt alone," Erika amplified.
"Not if St. Cyr can help it," Nick reminded her.
"Exactly. Naturally St. Cyr doesn't want us to talk to Watt privately. We might make him see reason. But
this time, Nick, we've simply got to manage it somehow. One of us is going to talk to Watt while the other
keeps St. Cyr at bay. Which do you choose?"
"Neither," Martin said promptly.
"Oh, Nick! I can't do the whole thing alone. Anybody'd think you were afraid of St. Cyr."
"I am afraid of St. Cyr," Martin said.
"Nonsense. What could he actually do to you?"
"He could terrorize me. He does it all the time. Erika, he says I'm indoctrinating beautifully. Doesn't it
make your blood run cold? Look at all the other writers he's indoctrinated."
"I know. I saw one of them on Main Street last week, delving into garbage cans. Do you want to end up
that way? Then stand up for your rights!"
"Ah," said the robot wisely, nodding. "Just as I thought. A crisis-point."
"Shut up," Martin said. "No, not you, Erika. I'm sorry."
"So am I," Erika said tartly. "For a moment I thought you'd acquired a backbone."
"If I were somebody like HemingwayтАФ" Martin began in a miserable voice.
"Did you say Hemingway?" the robot inquired. "Is
this the Kinsey-Hemingway era? Then I must be right. You're Nicholas Martin, the next subject. Martin,
Martin? Let me seeтАФoh yes, the Disraeli type, that's it." He rubbed his forehead with a grating sound.
"Oh, my poor neuron thresholds! Now I remember."
"Nick, can you hear me?" Erika's voice inquired. "I'm coming over there right away. Brace yourself. We're
going to beard St. Cyr in his den and convice Watt you'll never make a good screen-writer. NowтАФ"
"But St. Cyr won't ever admit that," Martin cried. "He doesn't know the meaning of the word failure. He
says so. He's going to make me into a screen-writer or kill me."
"Remember what happened to Ed Cassidy?" Erika reminded him grimly. "St. Cyr didn't make him into a
screen-writer." '
"True. Poor old Ed," Martin said, with a shiver.
"All right, then. I'm on my way. Anything else?"
"Yes!" Martin cried, drawing a deep breath. "Yes, there is! I love you madly!"
But the words never got past his glottis. Opening and closing his mouth noiselessly, the cowardly
playwright finally clenched his teeth and tried again. A faint, hopeless squeak vibrated the telephone's
disk. Martin let his shoulders slump hopelessly. It was clear he could never propose to anybody, not even
a harmless telephone.
"Did you say something?" Erika asked. "Well, goodbye then."
"Wait a minute," Martin said, his eyes suddenly falling once more upon the robot. Speechless on one