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

" ... told the old lady they was soft on Communism ... " a fat man was saying.
" ... been expecting it for weeks," a wizened old fellow stated. "My wife's cousin is a big shot in
the Job Corps ... "
" ... cute bunch of guys, but they're all so butch ... "
" ... college- educated radicals sold us out ... "
A trim, yellow-clad young fellow appeared, urging the bystanders along. Blondel attempted to
fade back, found himself facing the Monitor, who nodded pleasantly and said, "If you'll just stand
by, sir, special transportation facilities will be in operation in a few minutes."
"Yeah, uh, I was just ducking over to Aunt Gertie's for some plum preserves," Blondel
improvised. "But it can wait ... "
"Your address, sir?"
"Ah, I don't actually have one - - that is, I'm just visiting - - I mean, I live right down the
street."
"Please go to your home on foot, in that case, sir." The Monitor smiled disarmingly. "The
confusion will be cleared - up shortly, and normal movement can be resumed."
"Sure ... " Blondel backed into the throng, feeling eyes boring into his back. He cut down a side
street, emerged on a less densely packed thoroughfare. Monitors were on duty here too, direct ing
traffic, herding the pedestrians. The big voice was still blaring out instructions, almost unnoticed
over the crowd babble.
There was a gray Mustang parked at the curb; there was no one near it at the moment. The
keys were in the ignition, Blondel noted. He rounded the front bumper, tried the door. It opened.
He slid in behind the wheel, tried the starter. The engine kicked off with an unselfconscious roar.
Blondel wheeled the small car away from the curb. None of the Monitors seemed to notice.
Blondel drove carefully, passed block after block of Monitor- occupied territory. As he neared
the city's edge, traffic slowed to a crawl. Ahead he saw a barricade across the street, manned by
two Monitors. Blondel noted that they were waving most of the cars back. His turn came. A face
as bland as an insurance salesman's at renewal tune bent over and looked in the window.
"Where are you bound, sir?"
"Home," Blondel said cheerfully. "Just like you boys said."
"Where do you reside, sir?"
"Hah?"
"Where is your home, please?"
"That way." Blondel pointed ahead.
"Very well, sir. Kindly go directly there and remain by your radio or -- "
"Yeah, television." Blondel favored the invader with a grin, wink, and chuckle. "I've been
listening to you boys. I got the message, yes siree!"
"Thank you, sir. Please remain on the main route."
"Ah .. . suppose I, ah, sort of wandered off it?"
There was no visible change in the Monitor's expression, but suddenly it seemed to penetrate
like a laser beam.
"Like, if I got lost," Blondel amplified, feeling the grin going sick on his face.
"Take care not to get lost, sir. It would create unnecessary confusion."
"Yeah, sure thing, chief."
 The Monitor waved him on. His grin dropped as soon as he was past the barrier. It was nothing
specific that the Monitor had said or done, but Blondel was aware of a feeling under his ribs as
though he had been playing Russian roulette with all nine chambers loaded.
Twenty minutes later, with the city lights aglow far behind the racing Mustang, a noise like a
giant eggbeater penetrated over the hum of the car engine. Blondel ducked down and squinted up
through the windshield. A small helicopter was swinging across the road ahead, dropping in
quickly to intercept him. It was bright gold in color.