"Chad Oliver - Blood's a Rover" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oliver Chad)

stacked neatly on the floor by his side, waiting. Waiting, he thought, sipping his drink. They were always
waiting. No matter how much a man knew, there was always moreтАФwaiting.
The room closed in around him. He could feel itтАФwarm, friendly, personal. It was a good room. It
was a room filled with life, his life and KitтАЩs. It was almost as if he could see the room better with his eyes
closed, for then he saw the past as well as the present. There was the silver and black tapestry on the
wall, given to him by old Maharani so long ago, on a world so far away that the very light given off by its
sun when he was there had yet to reach the Earth as the twinkle of a star in the night sky. There were his
books, there were KitтАЩs paintings, there was the smudgeтАФthe current oneтАФon the carpet where Rob
had tracked dirt into the house before supper.
He opened his eyes and looked at his wife.
тАЬI must be getting old, Kit,тАЭ he said. тАЬRight at the moment, it all looks pretty pointless.тАЭ
Kit raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
тАЬWe tear around over the galaxy like a bunch of kids playing Spacemen and Pirates,тАЭ he said,
downing his drink. тАЬPush here, pull there, shove here, reverse there. ItтАЩs like some kind of half-wit game
where one side doesnтАЩt even know itтАЩs playing, or on which side of the field. SometimesтАФтАЭ
тАЬWant another drink?тАЭ Kit asked softly.
тАЬYes. KitтАФтАЭ
тАЬI know,тАЭ she said, touching his shoulder with her hand. тАЬGo ahead and talk; youтАЩll feel better. We go
through this every time thereтАЩs a new one, remember? I know you donтАЩt really mean things the way you
say them, and I know why you say them that way anyhow.тАЭ She kissed him lightly on the forehead and
her lips were cool and patient. тАЬ I understand.тАЭ
Conan Lang watched her leave the room with his empty glass. тАЬYes,тАЭ he whispered to himself. тАЬYes,
I guess you do.тАЭ
It was necessary, of course. Terribly, urgently necessary. But it got to you sometimes. All those
people out there, living their lives, laughing and crying, raising children. It hurt you to think about them.
And it wasnтАЩt necessary for them, not for him, not for Kit. Or was it? You couldnтАЩt tell; there was always
a chance. But if only they could just forget it all, just live, there was so much to enjoyтАФ
Kit handed him a fresh bourbon and soda, icy and with just a trace of lemon in it the way he liked it,
and then curled up again on the couch, smiling at him.
 тАЬIтАЩm sorry, angel,тАЭ he said. тАЬYou must get pretty sick of hearing the same sad song over and over
again.тАЭ
тАЬNot when you sing it, Cone.тАЭ
тАЬItтАЩs just that sometimes I chuck my mind out the nearest window and wonder whyтАФтАЬ
There was a thump and a bang from the rear of the house. Conan Lang tasted his drink. That meant
Rob was home. He listened, waiting. There was the hollow crackтАФthat was the bat going into the
corner. There was the heavy thudтАФthat was the fielderтАЩs glove.
тАЬThatтАЩs why,тАЭ Kit said.
Conan Lang nodded and picked up the first book off the floor.



Three days later, Conan Lang went up the white steps, presented his credentials, and walked into the
BuzzardтАЩs Cage. The place made him nervous. Irritated with himself, he paused deliberately and lit his
pipe before going on. The Cage seemed cold, inhuman. And the BuzzardтАФ
He shouldnтАЩt feel that way, he told himself, again offering his identification before entering the lift to the
Nest. Intellectually, he understood cybernetics; there was nothing supernatural about it. The Cage was
just a machine, for all its powers, even if the Buzzard did sometimes seem moreтАФor perhaps lessтАФthan
a man. Still, the place gave him the creeps. A vast thinking machine, filling a huge building, a brain beside
which his own was as nothing. Of course, men had built it. Men made guns, too, but the knowledge was
scant comfort when you looked into a metallic muzzle and someone pulled the trigger.