"Theodore Sturgeon - Ether Breather" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

blazed on, and through a bank of push buttons at his elbow, Berbelot maneuvered the transmittin
cells to a point above and behind the re-ceiver, so that we could see and be seen without turnin
our heads. At a nod from Berbelot I leaned forward and switched on the receiver.
Berbelot glanced at his watch. "If things work out right, it will be between ten and thirty minut
before we get any in-terference." His voice sounded a little metallic. I realized that it was comin
from the receiver as he spoke.
The images cleared on the view-screen as the set warmed up. It gave me an odd sensation
saw Berbelot and myself sitting side by sideтАФjust as if we were sitting in front of a mirror, exce
that the images were not reversed. I thumbed my nose at myself, and my image returned t
compliment.
Berbelot said: "Go easy, boy. If we get the same kind of interference the others got, your ima
will make something out of that." He chuckled.
"Damn right," said the receiver.
Berbelot and I stared at each other, and back at the screen. Berbelot's face was the same, b
mine had a vicious sneer on it. Berbelot calmly checked with his watch. "Eight forty-six," he sai
"Less time each broadcast. Pretty soon the interfer-ence will start with the broadcast, if this kee
up."
"Not unless you start broadcasting on a regular schedule," said Berbelot's image.
It had apparently dissociated itself completely from Berbe-lot himself. I was floored.
Berbelot sat beside me, his face frozen. "You see?" he whispered to me. "It takes a minute
catch up with itself. Till it does, it is my image."
"What does it all mean?" I gasped.
"Search me," said the perfume king.
 We sat and watched. And so help me, so did our images.
They were watching us!
Berbelot tried a direct question. "Who are you?" he asked. "Who do we look like?" said m
image; and both laughed uproariously.
Berbelot's image nudged mine. "We've got 'em on the run, hey, pal?" it chortled.
"Stop your nonsense!" said Berbelot sharply. Surprisingly, the merriment died.
"Aw," said my image plaintively. "We don't mean anything by it. Don't get sore. Let's all ha
fun. I'm having fun."
"Why, they're like kids!" I said.
"I think you're right," said Berbelot.
"Look," he said to the images, which sat there expectantly, pouting. "Before we have any fun
want you to tell me who you are, and how you are coming through the receiver, and how yo
messed up the three broadcasts before this."
"Did we do wrong?" asked my image innocently. The other one giggled.
"High-spirited sons o' guns, aren't they?" said Berbelot. "Well, are you going to answer m
questions, or do I turn the transmitter off?" he asked the images.
They chorused frantically: "We'll tell! We'll tell! Please don't turn it off!"
"What on earth made you think of that?" I whispered to Berbelot.
"A stab in the dark," he returned. "Evidently they like coming through like this and can't do
any other way but on the polychrome wave."
"What do you want to know?" asked Berbelot's image, its lip quivering.
"Who are you? "
"Us? We're . . . I don't know. You don't have a name for us, so how can I tell you?"
"Where are you? "
"Oh, everywhere. We get around. "
Berbelot moved his hand impatiently toward the switch.
The images squealed: "Don 't! Oh, please don't! This is fun!"