"Barry N. Malzberg - Closing the Deal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Malzberg Barry N)

one of the other agencies would double this price. I don't care who I'd see there."
"Then I suggest you go to one of our competitors," the guest said quietly; he put his pen away for the
second time, closed his book with a snap and stood. "I'm afraid that we do not misrepresent or pack our
offers as our competitors do. Our policy is one figure, a fair offer, taking into account every aspect of the
situation. If it's taken, fine, and if it's not we happily accept the loss because a higher offer would have
been unprofitable and thus self-deceiving. Our policy is built on rigorous fairness and the skills of its
highly-trained field staff; and now," he added, moving toward the door, "if you will excuse me, my
working day is done."
"Now wait a minute," the man said slowly, the words wrenched from him one by one like sobbing
exhalations from a balloon. "I didn't say no. I mean, I didn't flatly say no. I mean, if that's really your
policy, one offer, how was I to know that?" He touched the guest on the arm, trembling slightly, backed
off at once. "I mean, I know your reputation," he said, "that you're honorable people."
"Thank you."
"But frankly, I have to get a little more than that."
"Try one of our competitors then. You said they would do better."
"But I have to think of my child," the man said quickly, almost hysterically. "Now I mean to say,
what's a few dollars more or less when it's your own child at issue; and I know that you'd get the best for
her, make the best possible development."
"If we can."
"So maybe, well let me put it this way then." He placed the most delicate of hands on the guest's wrist
again, this time let it rest there. "Would there be maybe a ten percent give in your position? On the
upward arc of course."
"Of course," the guest said, "of course upward, always upward. No one ever thinks downward, do
they?"
He paused, sighed, looked at the man. "Levitation is a dime a dozen," he said. "We reject more
levitators than we take. In its crude, unfocused state it's worthless except as a party trick. How many
violinists are there for every concertmaster? He paused again and then shrugged. "Look here," he said.
The guest put the binder under his arm, lifted his index finger and as clumsily as Jessica moved
upward two or three feet, dangled his feet, kicked for effect and then swam inexpertly through the air to
his chair. Breathing unevenly he hung there for an instant, then released the field and dropped into the
chair. The father watched this intently.
"You see?" the guest said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his wet forehead. "And I'll never be
anything more than a field investigator."
That hung in the air for a moment. The father seemed to dwindle within himself, dropped his gaze,
looked at the floor thoughtfully. At length he lifted his head, looked at the guest again and very
awkwardly rose from his own chair, hanging in the air tensely.
"All right," he said. "I see. I'll sign anything."
And so the negotiations ended. Another day; another dollar, the guest thought. ┬ж

In Times to Come

The planet Mercury hasn't been kind to science-fiction writers. Several very fine stories set on
Mercury have been invalidated by advancing astronomical knowledge about the Sun's nearest neighbor.
A new writer, Brenda Pearce, brings together all that's known about conditions on Mercury for a
strong story of men against natureтАФand against each otherтАФcalled "Hot Spot." It's the lead novelette in
April's issue, with a dramatic cover painting by John Schoenherr.
In this age of militant feminism, it would be chauvinistic to marvel about a woman writing a "hard
science" story. But regardless of gender, Ms. Pearce has produced a stunning story in the Hal Clement
tradition, no mean feat for any new writer.
The science article next month will be "Extraterrestrial Organic Matter," by Louis Lenhard. It deals