"E. C. Tubb - Best SF of E C Tubb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

"Yes," said Frank. He could believe it. Once he had seen the creature
as it really was. Now it was almost impossible to accept that such a thing
could actually exist. "I was told that I was to be released. Am I?"
"Of course, Mr. Engel. We do not lie." The classical features creased
into a smile. "You probably feared that we would eliminate you but we have no
reason for that. You may not realize it but we have much to thank you for. You
have been most co-operative. With your assistance we have gained much
knowledge of your world and we shall learn more. We are grateful."
Grateful! Would a fisherman talk that way to a creature he had hauled
from the water, cut open, looked at, sewn up and was ready to throw back into
the sea? Maybe if the fish could talk but would he give it a reward?
"It is our custom," said the alien. The words echoed without vibration,
a soft tingling impinging directly on the cortex. "Our ethics forbid us to
take without giving something in return. The device is one much used among us
for social convenience. It is an eraser. With it you can undo a mistake. Gain
the advantage of a second chance. Avoid unpleasant situations. You should find
it most useful."
"Sure," said Frank. "But -- " He broke off for the alien had gone, the
room, the swirling mist and walls of apparent stone. He still sat but the
bench was of wood. The air carried the scent of visible flowers. There was
sound; the sigh of wind, the rustle of leaves, the shouts of children at play.
And, all around, the bright warmth of a summer sun.
Summer? It had been winter when he'd been taken, cold, hungry, dying,
without a job, a home, a friend, a shred of hope. The way a man gets when the
money runs out and the drink and the drugs and nothing is left but hunger, the




Page 2
pain of diseased lungs and the ravages of dissipation. He'd been a good
specimen for the aliens. Who would miss him? Who would believe him? Who would
he want to convince?
No one. He was cured and he knew it. No more addiction. No more
disease. A good chance to make a fresh start. He knew what needed to be done
and he had the alien's gift to help him do it.
He sat and looked at it, eyes narrowed against reflected sunshine.
Beside him a man stirred in his sleep smelling of staleness but human because
of it. Just one of the drifters who thronged the park. Across the graveled
path another bench held three others, two old, one a kid with a waxen face and
twitching hands. One of the men rose, stretched, headed down the path. Frank
ignored him, concentrating on the gift.
It was a ring, the band thick, wide, raised in one part, a prominence
that could be pressured by the impact of the adjoining finger. The jewel was a
large, domed, ruby-like stone striated with what could have been a diffraction
grating. Frank was a social failure but not an idiot and some things were
obvious. The ring was more than an ornament but just what he didn't know. The
alien hadn't explained. He examined it again, studying the protuberance. He
pressed it.
Nothing happened.