"Judith Merril - Barrier of Dread" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merril Judith)

BARRIER OF DREAD
IT WOULD have been a perfect day for the Managing Director, but his wife spoiled it for him.
Sarise had a way of saying unexpected things; it was half her charm. This time as they settled in to the
cushions on the moving ramp that would take them into the space ship from the great amphitheatre where
he ceremonies had been held, she looked worried. That is to say, she would have looked worried if it
were possible that a mature woman in perfect health of body and mind, with nothing to desire, could have
looked worried.
"It's too fast," was all she said, but Dangret had lived with her long enough to know what she meant.
"I can't quite make up my mind whether you're a throwback or just an incurable romantic," he told
her in a tone that might have been angry had he understood the nature of anger. But it was as long since
humans had had cause to understand anger, as it was since they had known reason for worry. He was,
however, not joking. Sarise held a greater fascination for Dangret than any of his earlier wives, because in
twenty-five years he had been completely unable to settle this problem to his own satisfaction.
She was unperturbed. "It's too fast," she repeated. "No one man should have the glory of opening
two galaxies during his Directorship. It's..."
"Certainly this feeling of...what did they call it...guilt?... in pleasure or glory is more of an atavism than
a romantic notion. Sarise, do you seriously mean..."
"Yes I do, and it's neither atavism nor romanticism," his wife retorted; "it's common sense. I don't
know the figures. That's your business. But I know as well as you do that the maximum percentage that
choose for exploration is lower than the number you'll be needing if settlement speeds up at the rate it is."
"That takes care of itself," he told her. "You know the children of settlers have the highest inclination
for exploration. The system works because these factors do level out."
Sarise had made up her mind. "Try it on your calkers," she tossed back, reaching for the portable
sensory recorder she always kept near at hand. She began to finger the controls, making a record of her
ideas before she lost them. "I'm going to do a composition on it, anyhow." She punched a key
vehemently. "And if the images I get out of this set of ideas don't make a real fear sensation, I'll give up
composing for good."
"If they do," he laughed, "I'll probably ban it. Nobody's done a successful fear-image in my lifetime,
and I'm not sure it's a good idea for anyone to do it."
Sarise was no longer interested. The section of the ramp that held their cushions had left the moving
carrier and deposited them in their own quarters on the flagship that would take them back to Earth,
where, tradition decreed, the Director must liveтАФdespite its many inconveniences.
Dangret was thoughtful as he watched his wife become more absorbed in the machine that would
eventually produce a combination of sound, light, and emotion as effective as anything else being done in
the universe. His eyes wandered over to the far wall of the room where a huge fresco depicted the
underlying pulse of their age. It wasn't supposed to be scientific; it showed suited manтАФwithout a
helmetтАФand a lovely woman, without any protection other than the modern trappings she wore, leaping
off the rear tubes of a rocker ship, the kind that was outmoded in Dangret's grandfather's time. Flames in
space surrounded them, and another ship, apparently burning could be seen in the background. There
was no fear on the faces of the pair. To Dangret and to the artist who had done the work, the fresco
symbolized the limitless possibilities of human will, and the endless expansion of human destiny.
He looked back at Sarise; he had originally made up his mind to meet this woman when he heard her
first composition, and he had realized when he suggested their union that she might leave him physically,
at any time for her work. Dangret was accustomed to it, and, like others of his day, found the spectacle
of another being absorbed in creative activity second best only to the sensation of that absorption within
his own person.
Now, however, he was not as much concerned with Sarise or her composition as he was with the
casual remark that had preceded it. It was no serious problem, of course; it would probably have some
use-value as the basis for an effective image, but it could be solved, if the matter became sufficiently
acute, by the manufacture of explorer-robots. As a matter of fact, the calkers had tabulated the