"Keith Laumer - The Monitors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

Frokinil opened one eye. He sighed hugely and almost fell into a chair.
"What was that all about?"
"Just ... a momentary dizziness."
"Dizziness my left patella! What was there about a few lines on a blackboard that would make a
smoothie like you stage a flipout?"
"Well, as a matter of fact -- it was the ... the circle around the symbolic representation of ... of
ourselves."
"Huh?"
"A small eccentricity." Frokinil managed a pale smile. "Just as you, perhaps, have an irrational
fear of heights, so we suffer from what our scientists term 'fear of closure'; it has its roots in our
early evolutionary history when we were small, burrowing animals."
"I never knew you Bolsheviks considered yourselves supermoles," Blondel said. "I suppose
that's Lysenko's latest noncapitalist theory."
"I've told you repeatedly - - but never mind." Frokinil stood, still pale. "I'd appreciate it if you'd
keep this little incident confidential. Rather embarrassing, you know - - "
"And that's why more of the doors in this fancy jail don't close," Blondel said.
"Please - - let's just leave this our little secret," Frokinil appealed. "Just consider it evidence
that, after all, we too have our little, er, human failings."
"It's evidence of something," Blondel agreed. "I'm not sure what."
 CHAPTER FOUR


At dinner that evening, Frokinil introduced two fellow guests to Blondel. One was a small,
round- shouldered youth with untrimmed hair and fingernails, who ate his soup with sound effects
and didn't talk. His name was Pleech. The other was a tall, ruddy-faced, hearty fellow, introduced
as Aunderson, who wore three lodge buttons on his lapel. An expanse of expensive wrist watch
and cuff showed when he peeled his cigar.
As soon as the last of the Monitors had trailed Frokinil from the room, Aunderson leaned toward
Blondel. "What do you think of the layout?" He shot the question from the side of his mouth.
"They feed OK," he replied cautiously.
Aunderson hitched his chair closer. "They're careless," he hissed. "Overconfident. They leave
doors open."
"So?"
He shot Blondel a sharp look, like a man listening to criticism of mother's cooking. "Brother,
don't you want to get away from here?"
"I hadn't thought much about it."
Aunderson drew on the cigar and looked at Blondel sideways. "By God, now I've heard
everything," he stated.
"They don't leave doors open by accident, man," Pleech said in a breathy tone. "They're
eyeballing every move."
The big fellow hitched his chair away from Blondel, flicked his eyes at the corners of the room.
"Place is probably bugged," he muttered. He patted his pockets, brought out a ball- point and a
business card; he cupped the card in his hand and jotted on it, passed it to Blondel below table-
top level.
"THE KID'S A FINK. DROP BY MY ROOM AFTER DARK."
Blondel sighed and tucked the card away. The trio finished the meal in silence.
Back in his room, Blondel sat in the big soft chair and listened to the small sounds going on
elsewhere in the house, remembering the previous afternoon: the big gold blimps floating down;
the crack troops in their yellow suits, and the blaring voices coming on over every loud- speaker in
the city, announcing that the invaders had arrived.