"H. Beam Piper - Day of the Moron" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

Doris Rives was waiting on the street level when Melroy reached the new Federal Building, in what had
formerly been the Greenwich Village district of Manhattan, that evening. She had a heavy brief case with
her, which he took.

"I was afraid I'd keep you waiting," she said. "I came down from the hotel by cab, and there was a
frightful jam at Fortieth Street, and another one just below Madison Square."

"Yes, it gets worse every year. Pardon my obsession, but nine times out of tenтАФninety-nine out of a
hundredтАФit's the fault of some fool doing something stupid. Speaking about doing stupid things,
thoughтАФI did one. Forgot to take that gun out of my overcoat pocket, and didn't notice that I had it till I
was on the subway, coming in. Have a big flashlight in the other pocket, but that doesn't matter. What I'm
worried about is that somebody'll find out I have a gun and raise a howl about my coming armed to a
mediation hearing."

The hearing was to be held in one of the big conference rooms on the forty-second floor. Melroy was
careful to remove his overcoat and lay it on a table in the corner, and then help Doris off with hers and
lay it on top of his own. There were three men in the room when they arrived: Kenneth Leighton, the
Atomic Power Authority man, fiftyish, acquiring a waistline bulge and losing his hair: a Mr. Lyons, tall and
slender, with white hair; and a Mr. Quillen, considerably younger, with plastic-rimmed glasses. The latter
two were the Federal mediators. All three had been lounging in arm-chairs, talking about the new plays
on Broadway. They all rose when Melroy and Doris Rives came over to join them.

"We mustn't discuss business until the others get here," Leighton warned. "It's bad enough that all three of
us got here ahead of them; they'll be sure to think we're trying to take an unfair advantage of them. I
suppose neither of you have had time to see any of the new plays."

Fortunately, Doris and Melroy had gone to the theater after dinner, the evening-before-last; they were
able to join the conversation. Young Mr. Quillen wanted Doris Rives' opinion, as a psychologist, of the
mental processes of the heroine of the play they had seen; as nearly as she could determine, Doris
replied, the heroine in question had exhibited nothing even loosely describable as mental processes of any
sort. They were still on the subject when the two labor negotiators, Mr. Cronnin and Mr. Fields, arrived.
Cronnin was in his sixties, with the nearsighted squint and compressed look of concentration of an
old-time precision machinist; Fields was much younger, and sported a Phi Beta Kappa key.

Lyons, who seemed to be the senior mediator, thereupon called the meeting to order and they took their
places at the table.




"Now, gentlemenтАФand Dr. RivesтАФthis will be simply an informal discussion, so that everybody can see
what everybody else's position in the matter is. We won't bother to make a sound recording. Then, if we
have managed to reach some common understanding of the question this evening, we can start the regular
hearing say at thirteen hundred tomorrow. Is that agreeable?"

It was. The younger mediator, Quillen, cleared his throat.