"Keith Laumer - The Lighter Side" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

the queuebana. It was a hot night. The Line moved up again, and Hestler had to emerge and roll
the queuebana forward. Two Spaces to go! The feeling of excitement was so intense that it made
Hestler feel a little sick. Two more moves up, and he'd be at the Window. He'd open the lockbox,
and present the Papers, taking his time, one at a time, getting it all correct, all in order. With a
sudden pang of panic he wondered if anyone had goofed, anywhere back along the line, failed to
sign anything, missed a Notary's seal, or a witness' signature. But they couldn't have. Nothing as
dumb as that. For that you could get bounced out of Line, lose your Place, have to go all the way
back-
Hestler shook off the morbid fancies. He was just nervous, that was all. Well, who wouldn't
be? After tonight, his whole life would be different; his days of standing in Line would be over.
He'd have time-all the time in the world to do all the things he hadn't been able to think about all
these years . . .
Someone shouted, near at hand. Hestler stumbled out of the queuebana to see Two Up-at the
Head of the line now-raise his fist and shake it under the nose of the small, black-moustached
face in the green eye-shade framed in the Window, bathed in harsh white light.
"Idiot! Dumbbell! Jackass!" Two Up yelled. "What do you mean take it back home and have
my wife spell out her middle name!"
Two burly Line police appeared, shone lights in Two Up's wild face, grabbed his arms, took
him away. Hestler trembled as he pushed the queuebana forward a Space on its roller skate
wheels. Only one man ahead of him now. He'd be next. But no reason to get all upset; the Line
had been moving like greased lightning, but it would take a few hours to process the man ahead.
He had time to relax, get his nerves soothed down, get ready to answer questions . . .
"I don't understand, sir," the reedy voice of One Up was saying to the small black moustache
behind the Window. "My Papers are all in order, I swear it-"
"You said yourself your father is dead," the small, dry voice of Black Moustache said. "That
means you'll have to reexecute Form 56839847565342-B in sextuplicate, with an endorsement
from the medical doctor, the Residential Police, and waivers from Department A, B, C, and so
on. You'll find it all, right in the Regulations."
"But-but he only died two hours ago: I just received word-"
"Two hours, two years; he's just as dead."
"But-I'll lose my Place! If I hadn't mentioned it to you-"
"Then I wouldn't have known about it. But you did mention it, quite right, too."
"Couldn't you just pretend I didn't say anything? That the messenger never reached me?"
"Are you suggesting I commit fraud?"
"No . . . no . . . " One Up turned and tottered away, his invalidated Papers clutched in his
hand. Hestler swallowed hard.
"Next," Black Moustache said.
 It was almost dawn six hours later when the clerk stamped the last Paper, licked the last
stamp, thrust the stack of processed documents into a slot and looked past Hestler at the next man
in Line.
Hestler hesitated, holding the empty lockbox in nerveless fingers. It felt abnormally light, like
a cast husk.
"That's all," the clerk said. "Next."
One Down jostled Hestler getting to the Window. He was a small, bandy-legged Standee with
large, loose lips and long ears. Hestler had never really looked at him before. He felt an urge to
tell him all about how it had been, give him a few friendly tips, as an old Window veteran to a
newcomer. But the man didn't give him a chance.
Moving off, Hestler noticed the queuebana. It looked abandoned, functionless. He thought of
all the hours, the days, the years he had spent in it, crouched in the sling . . .
"You can have it," he said on impulse to Two Down, who, he noted with surprise, was a