"Incommunicado" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Katherine)

The man, a small friendly Amerind, leaped to his feet and took the hand in a wiry nervous clasp, smiling widely. He answered in Glot with a Spanish accent.

УHappy to meet you, sir. My name is McCrea. I am the new librarian to replace Dr. Reynolds.Ф

УItТs a good job,Ф said Cliff. УIs Archy around?Ф

The new librarian gulped nervously. УOh, yes, Dr. ReynoldsТ son. He withdrew his application for the position. Something about music I hear. I donТt want to bother him. I am not used to the ReynoldsТ system, of course. It is hard to understand. It is sad that Dr. Reynolds left no diagrams. But I work hard, and soon I will understand.Ф The little man gestured at his scattered tools and half-drawn tentative diagrams and gulped again. УI am not a real, a genuine station research person, of course. The commission they have honored me with is a temporary appointment while theyЧФ

Cliff had listened to the flow of words, stunned. УFor the luvva Pete!Ф he exploded. УDo you mean to say that Archy Reynolds has left you stewing here trying to figure out the library system, and never raised a hand to help you? WhatТs wrong with the kid?Ф

He smiled reassuringly at the anxious little workman. УListen,Ф he said gently. УHe can spare you ten minutes. IТll get Archy up here if I have to break his neck.Ф



He strode back into the deserted library, where one square stubborn man sat glowering at the visoplate on his desk. It was Dr. Brandias, the station medico.

УAhoy, Brandy,Ф said Cliff. УWhereТs Archy? Where is everybody anyhow!Ф

Brandy looked up with a start. УCliff. TheyТre all down in the gym, heavy level, listening to Archy give a jazz concert.Ф He seemed younger and more alert, yet paradoxically more tense and worried than normal. He assessed CliffТs impatience and glanced smiling at his watch. УHold your horses, it will be over any minute now. Spare me a second and show me what to do with this contraption.Ф He indicated the reading desk. УItТs driving me bats!Ф The intonations of his voice were slightly strange, and he tensed up self-consciously as if startled by their echo.

Cliff considered the desk. It sat there looking expensive and useful, its ground glass reading screen glowing mildly. It looked like an ordinary desk with a private microtape file and projector inside to run the microfilm books on the reading screen, but Cliff knew that it was one of ReynoldsТ special working desks, linked through the floor with the reference files of the library that held in a few cubic meters the incalculable store of all the EarthТs libraries, linked by Doc Reynolds to the service automatics and the station computer with an elaborate control panel. It was comforting to Cliff that a desk should be equipped to do his calculating for him, record the results and photograph and play back any tentative notes he could make on any subject. Reynolds had made other connections and equipped his desks to do other things which Cliff had never bothered to figure out, but there was an irreverent rumor around that if your fingers slipped on the controls it would give you a ham sandwich.

УCliff,Ф Brandy was saying, Уif you fix it, youТre a life saver. IТve just got the glimmering of a completely different way to control the sympathetic system and take negative tension cycles out of decision and judgment sets, andЧФ

Cliff interrupted with a laugh, УYouТre talking out of my frequency. WhatТs wrong with the desk?Ф

УIt wonТt give me the films I want,Ф Brandy said indignantly. УLook, IТll show you.Ф The doctor consulted a list of decimal index numbers on a note pad, and rapidly punched them into the keyboard. As he did so the board gave out a trill of flutelike notes that ran up and down the scale like musical morse. УAnd all that noiseЧФ Brandy grumbled. УDoc kept turning it up louder and louder as he got deafer and deafer before he died. Why doesnТt somebody turn it down?Ф He finished and pushed the total key to the accompaniment of a sudden simultaneous jangle of notes. The jangle moved into a high twittering, broke into chords and trailed off in a single high faint note that somehow seemed as positive and final as the last note of a tune.

Cliff ignored it. All of ReynoldsТ automatics ran on a frequency discrimination system, and Doc Reynolds had liked to hetrodyne them down to audible range so as to keep track of their workings. Every telephone and servo in the station worked to the tune of sounds like a chorus of canaries, and the people of the station had grown so used to the sound that they no longer heard it. He looked the panel over again.

УYou have the triangulation key in,Ф he told Brandias, and laughed shortly. УThe computer is taking the numbers as a question, and itТs trying to give you an answer.Ф

УSounds like a Frankenstein,Ф Brandy grinned. УEverything always works right for engineers. ItТs a conspiracy.Ф

УSure,Ф Cliff said vaguely, consulting his chrono. УSay, whatТs the matter with your voice?Ф

The reaction to that simple question was shocking; Dr. Brandias turned white. Brandy, who had taught Cliff to control his adrenals and pulse against shock reaction, was showing one himself, an uncontrolled shock reaction triggered to a random word. Brandy had taught that this was a good sign of an urgent problem suppressed from rational calculation, hidden, and so only able to react childishly in irrational identifications, fear sets triggered to symbols.

The square, practical looking doctor was stammering, looking strangely helpless. УWhyЕ uhЕ uhЕ nothing.Ф He turned hastily back to his desk.

The news service clicked into life. УThe concert is over,Ф it announced.

Cliff hesitated for a second, considering BrandiasТ broad stooped back, and remembering what he had learned from the doctorТs useful lesson on fear. What could be bad enough to frighten Brandy? Why was he hiding it from himself?

He didnТt have time to figure it out. He had to get hold of Archy. УSee you later.Ф Poor Brandy. Physician, heal thyself.

People were streaming up from the concert.

He strode out into the corridor and headed for the elevator, answering the hails of friends with a muttered greeting. At the door of the elevator Mrs. Gibbs stepped out, trailing her husband. She passed him with a gracious УGood evening, Cliff.Ф