"Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 03 - The Futurological Congress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

impossible. As for the Alpine rope, the crowbar, the hardtack and the camouflage cape, one of the
members of the American delegation of futurologists patiently explained to me that today's hotels take
safety precautions unknown in earlier times. Each of the above items, when included in the room,
significantly increases the life expectancy of the occupant. How foolish it was of me, not to have taken
those words more seriously!
The sessions were scheduled to begin in the afternoon of the first day, and that morning we all
received complete programs of the conference; the materials were handsomely printed up, elegantly
bound, with numerous charts and illustrations. I was particularly intrigued by a booklet of embossed
sky-blue coupons, each stamped: "Good for One Intercourse."
Present-day scientific conventions, obviously, also suffer from the population explosion. Since the
number of futurologists grows in proportion to the increase in magnitude of all humanity, their meetings
are marked by crowds and confusion. The oral presentation of papers is quite out of the question; these
have to be read in advance. Though there wasn't time for reading anything that morningтАФthe
Management treated us all to free drinks. This little ceremony took place without incident, barring the fact
that a few rotten tomatoes were thrown at the United States contingent. I was sipping my Martini when I
learned from Jim Stantor, a well-known UPI reporter, that a consul and a grade-three attach├й of the
American Embassy in Costa Rica had been kidnapped at dawn. The abductors were demanding the
release of all political prisoners in exchange for the diplomats. To show they meant business, these
extremists had already delivered individual teeth of their hostages to the Embassy and various government
offices, promising an anatomical escalation. Still, this contretemps did not mar the cordial atmosphere of
our morning get-together. The United States ambassador himself was there, and gave a short speech on
the need for international cooperationтАФshort, as he was surrounded by six muscular plainclothesmen
who kept their guns trained on us all the time. I was rather disconcerted by this, especially when the
dark-skinned delegate from India standing next to me had to wipe his nose and reached for the
handkerchief in his back pocket. The official spokesman for the Futurological Association assured me
afterwards that the measures taken had been both necessary and humane. Bodyguards now employ
weapons of high caliber and low penetration, the kind security agents carry on board passenger flights in
order that innocent bystanders not be harmed. In the old days it often happened that the bullet which
felled the would-be assassin would subsequently pass through five or even six persons who, though
minding their own business, were standing directly behind him. Still, the sight of a man at your side
crumpling to the floor under heavy fire is not among the most pleasant, even if it is the result of a simple
misunderstanding, which ends with an exchange of diplomatic notes and official apologies.
But rather than attempt to settle the thorny question of humanitarian ballistics, perhaps I ought to
explain why I was unable, all that day, to familiarize myself with the conference materials. So then, after
hurriedly changing my blood-spattered shirt, I went to the hotel bar for breakfast, which usually I do not
do. My custom is to eat a soft-boiled egg in the morning, but the hotel hasn't yet been built where you
can have one sent up to your room that isn't revoltingly cold. This is due, no doubt, to the continually
expanding size of metropolitan hotels. If a mile and a half separates the kitchen from your room, nothing
will keep that yolk warm. As far as I know, the Hilton experts did study the problem; they came to the
conclusion that the only solution would be special dumbwaiters moving at supersonic speeds, but
obviously sonic booms in an enclosed area would burst everyone's eardrums. Of course you could
always have the automatic cook send the eggs up raw and the automatic bellhop soft-boil them right in
your room, except that that would eventually lead to people coming in and out with their own chicken
coops. And thus I headed for the bar.
More than ninety-five percent of a hotel's guests are there for some conference or convention. The
individual tourist, the single guest without a card in his lapel and briefcase stuffed with programs and
memoranda, is as rare as a pearl in the desert. Besides our own group in Costa Rica, there was the
Plenary Council of Student Protest Veterans, the Convention of Publishers of Liberated Literature, and
the Phillumenist Society (matchbook collectors). As a rule, members of an organization are given rooms
on the same floor, but the Management, apparently wishing to honor me, offered me one on the