"Frederik Pohl - The Midas Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

ran over his plans with Henry. He swallowed a mouthful
and said, "I want you to line up some appointments for
me right away. Three hours a week in an exercise gym
pick one with lots of reducing equipment, Henry. I think
I'm going to need it. And fittings for some new clothes
I've had these for weeks. And, let's see, doctor, dentist
say, Henry, don't I have a psychiatrist's date coming up?"
"Indeed you do, sir!" it said warmly. "This morning,
in fact. I've already instructed the chauffeur and notified
your office."
"Fine! Well, get started on the other things, Henry."
"Yes, sir," said Henry, and assumed the curious absent
look of a robot talking on its TBR circuitsthe "Talk
Between Robots" radioas it arranged the appointments
for its master.
Morey finished his breakfast in silence, pleased with his
own virtue, at peace with the world. It wasn't so hard to be
a proper, industrious consumer if you -worked at it, he
reflected. It was only the malcontents, the ne'er-do-wells
and the incompetents who simply could not adjust to the
world around them. Well, he thought with distant pity,
someone had to suffer; you couldn't break eggs without
making an omelet. And his proper duty was not to be
some sort of wild-eyed crank, challengmg the social order
and beating his breast about injustice, but to take care of
his wife and his home.
It was too bad he couldn't really get right down to work
on consuming today. But this was his one day a week to
hold a jobfour of the other six days were devoted to
solid consumingand, besides, he had a group therapy
session scheduled as well. His analysis, Morey told him-
self, would certainly take a sharp turn for the better, now
that he had faced up to his problems.
Morey was immersed in a glow of self-righteousness as
he kissed Cherry good-by (she had finally got up, all in
a confusion of delight at the new regime) and walked out
the door to his car. He hardly noticed the little man in
enormous floppy hat and garishly ruffled trousers who
was standing almost hidden in the shrubs.
"Hey, Mac." The man's voice was almost a whisper.
"Hub? Ohwhat is it?"
The man looked around furtively. "Listen, friend," he
said rapidly, "you look like an intelligent man who could
use a little help. Times are tough; you help me. III help
you. Want to make a deal on ration stamps? Six for one.
One of yours for six of mine, the best deal youTI get
anywhere in town. Naturally, my stamps aren't exactly
the real McCoy, but they'll pass, friend, they'll pass"
Morey biinked at him. "No!" he said violently, and
pushed the man aside. Now it's racketeers, he thought