"Morrison, William - The Sly Bungerhop v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

"Out loud?"
"What? Of course. How else?"
"Ah," said the distant bass rumble of the silvery glow in a satisfied tone. "And the monitorЧ"
"Yes," agreed the manager, less satisfied. "The monitor vectored him in to the temporal slide and he pushed the slide button up. The question is, now what?" He paused. "You," he said to Colmer, "when did all this happen?"
"When?" Colmer was completely at sea. "About one-thirty, I'd say. I remember it was time for lunch andЧ"
"You misunderstand me. What year?"
"What year?" Colmer blinked and a great light seemed to come over him. "Oh," he said faintly. "Temporal slide, eh? What year? You meanЧ"
"Of course," said the manager. "You got on the temporal slide, going up. You're in the ninety-ninth century."
There was a ragged series of click-pops and another argument raged in the slurred and sketchy English. Colmer didn't mind; it gave him a chance to catch his breath.
What an opportunity! What an incredible, gorgeous, million-billion-trillion-dollar opportunity! The ninety-ninth century and here he was smack in the middle of it! Let de Wike argue with him nowЧhere was his chance to write science fiction that would live and sell and make his name famous forever!
There was a sudden local concentration of chatter at the door and then a new figure in a glowing suitЧorange, this timeЧjoined the party. He approached Colmer, close enough so that Colmer could actually see the face. It was a man, not young, not old, no taller than Colmer himself, with a wise and patient and studious face. He poked something glittering and gleaming under Colmer's eyes. Flaring white light danced out and blinded Colmer for a second.
"Hey!" cried Colmer. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
Click-pop; a series of click-pops. The manager's voice soothed, "Ogratz is a doctor. You understand, we have to have a doctor look you over."
"Oh, all right," Colmer grumbled. "Listen, I've got a million questions! My year was 1961. Now what happened right after that?"
The booming silver-glow voice said, "The recommendation for the monitor, then, is to replace it with a human."
Colmer interrupted: "Excuse me! Now, after 1961, when was the next war? Did the RussiansЧhey! Ouch!"
It was bright green light this time and it stung. The doctor said something under his breath in a satisfied tone.
The manager's voice said, "Arrax, the whole thing was a stupid error; I've always said that robot monitors were a false economy. We'll have to change the code word. `Century' isn't any good now. Maybe we ought to replace the slide operators, too, but we can table that. As for this oneЧ"
"You mean me?" Colmer yelped. "Look, get this fellow away from me, will you? I want to know about the H-bomb. Was it ever used? Did Nasser getЧ"
"We'll vote yes on the monitors," said Arrax. "I leave the arrangements to you. What about him, Doctor?"
The doctor stepped away from Colmer, scratching his cheek. "Well," he said meditatively, "it checks. Fovea central, bilateral occlusions. Efficiency? I'd say fifteenth percentile rods, twenty-fifth conesЧoh, yes. Without his glasses, he's just about blind. Couldn't have seen a thing."
Colmer began to grow irritated. "I told you I didn't see anything. Now why don't you get me some glasses as a starter? I'd like a look at what technological wonders you peopleЧ"
"Shall I?" asked the doctor.
The manager chuckled. "Why not?"
"Thanks," said Colmer, gratified as the dim orange glow that was the doctor bent and did something with what seemed to be the equivalent of a little black bag. "Now about my questions. Do you think you could spare me someone who speaks English to act asЧ"
"I have the report," the manager said, ignoring him. "The people who spoke to him told him nothing of any consequence."
"Good," said the silvery glow named Arrax. "Take care, then."
"Wait a minute!" Colmer cried. "That sounds as if you were going to send me back! Please, just let me stay a little while, won't you? I promise not to be any trouble! Listen, there must be lots of things I can do for youЧbring you up to date on the twentieth century, maybe, or help your historians check facts, orЧ"
"Certainly." soothed the manager. "Of course." " He advanced on Colmer and took his arm. "If you'll just come this way, we'll take care of everything. Into this little doorЧthat's right. AndЧhere, don't forget theseЧ" He pressed something into Colmer's hand.
There was a sudden flare of polychrome light, brighter than light had ever been before... .
The world went black, and spun, and then sharpened again. Colmer, ready for anything, fearful of everything, reached out, touched a wall, braced himself, turnedЧ
A man was approaching him.
"Arrax?" he called fearfully. "Dr. Ogratz? Manager?"
"Why, Colmer!" said the voice, pleased. "I thought you'd gone."
It was L. Richard de Wike.
Colmer slumped against the wall. It was all over. It was too late.
"Heavens, but he has mellowed fast," thought L. Richard de Wike. And it was true. Colmer had acted very peculiarly Чwhat was that nonsense of looking for an "Up" button at the elevators?Чbut now he seemed quiet, mild, reasonableЧalmost dazed.
"Look," said de Wike eagerly, "suppose we go out to lunch? We're reasonable men. It doesn't matter about the Luna CupЧand I'm sure we can work something out about your book. After all, I'm no expert on what's really going to happen centuries from nowЧ"
Colmer turned and looked at him through his new glasses Чfunny, thought de Wike; I could have sworn he said those others were his only pair. And these were odd-looking, rose-pink, of a most unusual shape.
"That's true," said Colmer at last. "And, damn it, neither am I."
De Wike blinked happily. "Why, now, that's the way to look at it, Colmer," he said. "Let's go to lunch now, shall we? Just you and I, eh?"
Colmer paused.
He looked around him, with the sharpness of vision the new glasses had brought. Here was where he had pressed the "Up" button (no button, no scar, no shadow now to mark where it had been). There was where the monitor had met him, triggered by the code-word "century." A secret recess in the wall? An imagined figure, born of suggestion and gullible neurones?
Whatever it was, there was no trace of the monitor or its hiding place there, either. No trace of anything. No chance that, ever again, Colmer would find the key and unlock the door to the future, whereЧsurely this time!Чforewarned and careful, he would find some way to stay there long enough to learn.
No chance?
Colmer drew a deep breath, his first breath of hope andЧgreed? Whatever it was, greed or nobility, that makes men want to know what is forbidden to them.
He said, "Sure, de Wike." He said, "Certainly, de Wike, let's talk things over. The two of us understand each other, after all!" And he said, "Oh, by the way, de WikeЧI just happened to think, de Wike. Haven't you kept asking me to head up your science fiction book department?"
And so it was that Colmer, rose-pink glasses and all, came to occupy the office next to de Wike's, and the refurbished Luna Cup now sits atop his desk.
He's a good editor. He understands the problems of the writer; he sympathizes deeply; he comprehends fully; and the contracts he signs give an author a full fifteen per cent less than any other editor in the firm has ever been able to manage.
His employers are well satisfied, except for his one little idiosyncrasy.