"Stanley G. Weinbaum - The Worlds of If" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinbaum Stanley G)

"I have," he said grimly. "I most assuredly have. Time," he said oracularly "is money."

You can't argue with a viewpoint like that.

But those aspersions of his rankled, especially that about the Baikal. Tardy I might be, but it was hardly
conceivable that my presence aboard the rocket could have averted the catastrophe. It irritated me; in a
way, it made me responsible for the deaths of those unrescued hundreds among the passengers and
crew, and I didn't like the thought.

Of course, if they'd waited an extra five minutes for me, or if I'd been on time and they'd left on schedule
instead of five minutes late, or ifтАФif!

If! The word called up van Manderpootz and his subjunctivisorтАФthe worlds of "if," the weird, unreal
worlds that existed beside reality, neither past nor future, but contemporary, yet extemporal. Somewhere
among their ghostly infinities existed one that represented the world that would have been had I made the
liner. I had only to call up Haskel van Manderpootz, make an appointment, and thenтАФfind out.

Yet it wasn't an easy decision. SupposeтАФjust suppose that I found myself responsibleтАФnot legally
responsible, certainly; there'd be no question of criminal negligence, or anything of that sortтАФnot even
morally responsible, because I couldn't possibly have anticipated that my presence or absence could
weigh so heavily in the scales of life and death, nor could I have known in which direction the scales
would tip. JustтАФresponsible; that was all. Yet I hated to find out.
I hated equally not finding out. Uncertainty has its pangs too, quite as painful as those of remorse. It might
be less nerve-racking to know myself responsible than to wonder, to waste thoughts in vain doubts and
futile reproaches. So I seized the visiphone, dialed the number of the University and at length gazed on
the broad, humorous, intelligent features of van Manderpootz, dragged from a morning lecture by my call.


I was all but prompt for the appointment the following evening, and might actually have been on time but
for an unreasonable traffic officer who insisted on booking me for speeding. At any rate, van
Manderpootz was impressed.

"Well!" he rumbled. "I almost missed you, Dixon. I was just going over to the club, since I didn't expect
you for an hour. You're only ten minutes late."

I ignored this. "Professor, I want to use yourтАФuhтАФyour subjunctivisor."

"Eh? Oh, yes. You're lucky, then. I was just about to dismantle it."

"Dismantle it! Why?"

"It has served its purpose. It has given birth to an idea far more important than itself. I shall need the
space it occupies."

"But what is the idea, if it's not too presumptuous of me to ask?"

"It is not too presumptuous. You and the world which awaits it so eagerly may both know, but you bear
it from the lips of the author. It is nothing less than the autobiography of van Manderpootz!" He paused
impressively.