"Robin Wilson - To the Vector Belong..." - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Robin)

тАЬWhat do you suppose was the problem?тАЭ prompts Lindstrom again.

тАЬJesus, you study your ass off,тАЭ says the alien, who speaks an amazingly
fluent American English with no accent. тАЬMaster two, three languages right down to
the last idiot, pick up on gestures and folkways and history and culture, and then itтАЩs
something dumb like the goddamn packaging that can give you away.тАЭ

тАЬIdiom, Al. Not idiot,тАЭ says Lindstrom, who has raised children and corrected
them and whose fascination with the young man is only a little tempered by his
fatigue. He is also a little worried that his involvement in this case will bring him too
much exposure. He has all his life thrived on anonymity, living a fresh cover story
with nearly every new assignment, and because of his frequent posting from one
bureau in Justice to another, his hold on a federal pension is not as firm as he might
wish. Bureaucrats achieving notoriety are invariably punished one way or another by
their bureaus.

тАЬId-i-om,тАЭ chants Al mechanically, his young manтАЩs mind still engaged by the
excitement of his perilous passage. тАЬWe got miles of tape and film and even aerosols
the remotes collected soтАЩs weтАЩd get the smells right and know a fart from a flower
and by God we learned it all to about point nine nine nine, and then itтАЩs the goddamn
packaging or something else indigenous thatтАЩs equally dumb that you gotta do right.
We could handle most of it in training, I mean, like the first pop-top beer can. I had
practice with the damn thing at the academy although my hands, you know, when I
first got there my hands were a little weak from the amputations, but I could handle
it.

тАЬAnd I could deal with a bunch of coat hangers, which arenтАЩt exactly
packaging, but just about as big a pain in the ass to someone whoтАЩs never seen one
before. But boy, the shrink pack stuff, until you know itтАЩs supposed to be broken
you can spend a hell of a time poking around, trying to find the tear strip or button
or pry point or whatever, trying not to let on to anyone that you havenтАЩt, you know,
opened a million of the things, and screw up the whole tamale.тАЭ

He stops abruptly and drains his glass, setting it back on the bar with a clink
and shaking his head, aware suddenly of his own volubility. тАЬBut then none of it
mattered.тАЭ He pauses to examine his empty glass, puzzled. тАЬThis is an overt
penetration and I guess I could of showed up dressed in ergli-chicken feathers with a
bone in my nose and it wouldnтАЩt have made any difference.тАЭ

тАЬNot tamale,тАЭ says Lindstrom. тАЬEnchilada. ItтАЩs an idiom from the Watergate
affair thirty years ago, back in the seventies. The whole enchilada.тАЭ
 тАЬYeah, we read about that.тАЭ Then, chanting: тАЬThe whole en-chil-ad-aтАЭ to
LindstromтАЩs nod of approval.

тАЬOkay, Al,тАЭ says Lindstrom, picking up on AlтАЩs confusion about his
preparation. тАЬWhy such elaborate training? How come all the preparation so you
could pass for a native, and then whacko! you drop naked as jay bird on the busiest
dock in Oakland at damn near high noon with half of Northern California looking
on?тАЭ