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

"As it happens, Myrtle and I took a South American cruise just last fall. I think I've got them
all."
"That's it, then. And check all suspicious sounds, odors, and moving lights."
 "Right." He stood. Halfway through the door he turned, back. "Who are you with? FBI? CIA?
SOS?"
"KGGF."
"That's a radio station."
"Sure -- do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Sorry. They, ah, in touch with you?"
"You didn't think all those pigeons outside were wild, did you?"
"What pigeons? I didn't see any pigeons."
"That's the idea; deny everything. Better get going now. A lot to do before midnight."
He nodded and went away. Blondel stretched out on the bed and wondered about some of the
people on Our Side.
Ten minutes later a board creaked. Blondel sat up, expecting to see Frokinil appear, full of
optimism and statistics. Nothing happened. Blondel rose and went to the door, put his head out.
Aunderson was just disappearing down the stairs, carrying a pair of highly- polished Scotch grain
brogans under his arm. Blondel stepped out and went along to the head of the stairs, saw
Aunderson go through an archway down below. He listened for a few seconds, then went down
after him. The arch led into a small dark room; Blondel picked his way over mops and brooms,
came out in a papered hall. He could hear voices off to the left. The door they were coming from
was open an inch or so.
" ... tearing sheets into strips," Aunderson was saying. "And - - "
"But, my dear sir, it's not at all necessary for you to barter for special consideration!" The Tersh
Jetterax sounded upset. "I assure you, after your testing is complete, you'll each be
recommended for appropriate training - - "
"Look here, I'm not some kind of farmer or manual laborer." Aunderson sounded indignant. "I
can face facts; I know which way the wind's blowing. I saw those big yellow airships and -- "
"Please, sir! I appreciate your advising me of poor Mr. Blondel's misguided plans, but there is
nothing I could promise you that you will not receive freely, as a gift due you as a member of the
human race!"
"Now, look! I may be a prisoner of war - - well, hell yes, your boys nailed me fair and square, I
concede that -- but a man like me can be a big help to you -- "
"Mr. Aunderson, it is you I wish to help! Of course, in the case of Mr. Blondel, I see that it will
be necessary to use more, ah, direct measures to establish a true personality- rapport; but this is
only in his own interest, of Course."
"Uh - - you're not figuring on messing around with my personality?" Aunderson sounded worried
now.
"I do hope that won't be necessary ... "
Blondel faded back along the hall, inspired by a sudden urge to put distance between the kindly
Tersh's personality alterers and himself. While his ego wasn't much, he conceded, it was the one
he had come in with and he had a lively desire to keep it the way it was, flaws and all.
Around the first corner, light shone from a half- open door. Blondel peeked inside. The bearded
youth from the dinner table was standing by a bookcase with a foliosize volume in his hands. He
looked up and saw Blondel.
"The wildest, man." He hefted the book. "Like it's the stripiest."
 "You bet," Blondel agreed. "Lots of pretty pictures, hey?" He went across and scanned the view
from the windows: the usual expanse of spot - lit grass stretching across to a fieldstone wall,
dotted with well- tended trees and shrubs. There were Monitors standing here and there,
apparently admiring the view of the night sky.