"Jacqueline Lichtenberg - Sime Gen 13 - Operation High Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lichtenberg Jacqueline)

startled enough to jump tomy feet. I hadn't felt the field gradient increase because Iwas wearing retainers,
of course.
"Well, turn around, let me have a look at you."
I turned obediently while examining the speaker. He was a Gen. Maybe eighty or eighty-five. A little
shorter than my five-footeleven, portly but not obese. He looked like an elder statesman,complete with
silver-knobbed cane.
He snapped a formidable-looking lock on the door and hobbled tohis polished desk, gesturing at me.
"Take them things offand make yourself at home. You're the spittin' image of yourgrandfather, you know
that?"
"No, sir, I didn't," I said, so surprised I actuallystarted removing my retainers. Then, I realized what I was
doingand stopped, horrified.
"Go on! Go on!" the old man prompted. "Yourgrandfather and I worked together many years ago. I'll
neverforget it. Crusades he called 'em! Hah! I'll never forget thetime... . No, not now. Digen got me out
of retirement to giveyou a hand, not a lecture. You comfortable?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Well, I'm going to give you a hand. In fact my whole organizationis going to give you multiple hands, but
we won't do your workfor you. You've got about three weeks of good hard leg work todo. Think you're
up to it?"
"Yes, sir," I said, not at all sure I was.
"Good! Now, my son generally runs this place these days,but he's off helping his wife have a baby, so
we'll just haveto get along without him." He started hunting through drawers.
"I don't know anything about this sort of work, sir. I'mjust an intern."
"Well, you can talk, can't you?"
"Yes," I said, bewildered.
"Retainers drive you crazy, don't they?"
I nodded again. He seemed to know all about me.
"All right. All you have to do is be yourself. Projectyour sincerity for your cause. Tell 'em like they never
heardit before. You'll do all right."
"Ah. Here they are!" he produced a stack of papers.
"Briefly, the situation is this. There's a bill up beforethe Senate." He handed me a paper. "Says that
publicestablishments, restaurants, theatres, even buses, have the rightto designate areas where Simes may
enjoy the services withouthaving to wear retainers. It's been up in one form or anotherseveral years now,
but always dies in committee. You're goingto see every member of that committee, and you're going to
talkthat bill onto the floor. Here are your appointments." He handed me another paper.
"Next year, when the public has been softened up a bit, we'llget a bill legalizing your inventions.
Meantime, you've got toconvince these men that retainers are painful, therefore dangerous,and public rest
areas should be provided for those who want 'em. Here's a bunch of statistics. Memorize 'em and use
'em. Goodluck."
I found myself on the street, my head whirling like the bladesof the copter that had brought me here. It
didn't stop whirlingfor three weeks. I talked. I saw every one on the list severaltimes. I learned to
recognize influential Senators and catchthem in restaurants, corridors, even the men's room. Soon
everybodyknew me; in fact, they and their secretaries knew me better thanI knew them. Which
sometimes wasn't so good.
Then it was the big morning, the day the committee would eitherreport the bill out or table it for the year.
I figured it hada good chance. I'd convinced a majority of the committee. ButSenator Fieldman, the
chairman, was still the Opposition.
Oh, he'd made a lot of public noise about how he was all for "humanetreatment of our fellow humans, the
so-called Simes." Andthe public swallowed it. I'd looked up his voting record andI knew what to expect.
So it was with some apprehension that I entered the pseudo-Grecianbuilding that served the Senate. The
inside was as modern astomorrow while the outside was kept archaic. "As a linkwith our revered