Читаем Stranger in a Strange Land полностью

“What’s the trouble, son? You did it beautifully a few minutes ago. I want one more demonstration—and this time I won’t take my eyes off it.”

“Jubal—”

“Yes, Jill?”

“I think I grok what is bothering Mike.”

“Well, tell me then, for I don’t.”

“We set up an experiment where I was about to hurt you by hitting you with that box. But both of us are his water brothers—so it upset Mike that I even tried to hurt you. I think there is something very un-Martian about such a situation. It puts Mike in a dilemma. Divided loyalty.”

Harshaw frowned. “Maybe it should be investigated by the Committee on un-Martian Activities.”

“I’m not joking, Jubal.”

“Nor was I—for we may need such a committee all too soon. I wonder how Mrs. O’Leary’s cow felt as she kicked the lantern? All right, Jill, you sit down and I’ll re-rig the experiment.” Harshaw handed the ash tray to Mike. “Feel how heavy it is, son, and see those sharp corners.”

Smith examined it somewhat gingerly. Harshaw went on, “I’m going to throw it straight up in the air, clear to the ceiling—and let it hit me in the head as it comes down.”

Mike stared at him. “My brother… you will now discorporate?”

“Eh? No, no! It won’t kill me and I don’t want to die. But it will cut me and hurt me—unless you stop it. Here we go!” Harshaw tossed it straight up within inches of the high ceiling, tracking it with his eyes like a soccer player waiting to pass the ball with his head. He concentrated on watching it, while one part of his mind was considering jerking his head aside at the last instant rather than take the nasty scalp wound the heavy, ugly thing was otherwise sure to give him—and another small piece of his mind reckoned cynically that he would never miss this chattel; he had never liked it—but it had been a gift.

The ash tray topped its trajectory, and stayed there.

Harshaw looked at it, with a feeling that he was stuck in one frame of a motion picture. Presently he remembered to breathe and found that he needed to, badly. Without taking his eyes off it he croaked, “Anne. What do you see?”

She answered in a flat voice, “That ash tray is five inches from the ceiling. I do not see anything holding it up.” Then she added in tones less certain, “Jubal, I think that’s what I’m seeing… but if the cameras don’t show the same thing, I’m going to turn in my robe and tear up my license.”

“Um. Jill?”

“It floats. It just floats.”

Jubal sighed, went to his chair and sat down heavily, all without taking his eyes off the unruly ash tray. “Mike,” he said, “what went wrong? Why didn’t it disappear like the box?”

“But, Jubal,” Mike said apologetically, “you said to stop it; you did not say to make it go away. When I made the box go away, you wanted it to be again. Have I done wrongly?”

“Oh. No, you have done exactly right. I keep forgetting that you always take things literally.” Harshaw recalled certain colloquial insults common in his early years—and reminded himself forcefully never, never to use any of such to Michael Valentine Smith—for, if he told the boy to drop dead or to get lost, Harshaw now felt certain that the literal meaning of his words would at once ensue.

“I am glad,” Smith answered soberly. “I am sorry I could not make the box be again. I am sorry twice that I wasted so much food. But I did not know how to help it. Then a necessity was. Or so I grokked.”

“Eh? What food?”

Jill said hastily, “He’s talking about those two men, Jubal. Berquist and the cop with him—if he was a cop. Johnson.”

“Oh, yes.” Harshaw reflected that he himself still retained un-Martian notions of food, subconsciously at least. “Mike, I wouldn’t worry about wasting that ‘food.’ They probably would have been tough and poor flavor. I doubt if a meat inspector would have passed them. In fact,” he added, recalling the Federation convention about “long pig,” “I am certain that they would have been condemned as unfit for food. So don’t worry about it. Besides, as you say, it was a necessity. You grokked the fullness and acted rightly.”

“I am much comforted,” Mike answered with great relief in his voice. ‘Only an Old One can always be sure of right action at a cusp… and I have much learning to learn and much growing to grow before I may join the Old Ones. Jubal? May I move it? I am tiring.”

“You want to make it go away now? Go ahead.”

“But now I cannot.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“Your head is no longer under it. I do not grok wrongness in its being, where it is.”

“Oh. All right. Move it.” Harshaw continued to watch it, expecting that it would float to the spot now over his head and thus regain a wrongness. Instead the ash tray moved downward at a slow, steady speed, moved sideways until it was close above his desk top, hovered for a moment, then slid to an empty spot and came in to an almost noiseless landing.

“Thank you, Jubal,” said Smith.

Перейти на страницу:

Похожие книги

Аччелерандо
Аччелерандо

Сингулярность. Эпоха постгуманизма. Искусственный интеллект превысил возможности человеческого разума. Люди фактически обрели бессмертие, но одновременно биотехнологический прогресс поставил их на грань вымирания. Наноботы копируют себя и развиваются по собственной воле, а контакт с внеземной жизнью неизбежен. Само понятие личности теперь получает совершенно новое значение. В таком мире пытаются выжить разные поколения одного семейного клана. Его основатель когда-то натолкнулся на странный сигнал из далекого космоса и тем самым перевернул всю историю Земли. Его потомки пытаются остановить уничтожение человеческой цивилизации. Ведь что-то разрушает планеты Солнечной системы. Сущность, которая находится за пределами нашего разума и не видит смысла в существовании биологической жизни, какую бы форму та ни приняла.

Чарлз Стросс

Научная Фантастика
Дневники Киллербота
Дневники Киллербота

Три премии HugoЧетыре премии LocusДве премии NebulaПремия AlexПремия BooktubeSSFПремия StabbyПремия Hugo за лучшую сериюВ далёком корпоративном будущем каждая космическая экспедиция обязана получить от Компании снаряжение и специальных охранных мыслящих андроидов.После того, как один из них «хакнул» свой модуль управления, он получил свободу и стал называть себя «Киллерботом». Люди его не интересуют и все, что он действительно хочет – это смотреть в одиночестве скачанную медиатеку с 35 000 часов кинофильмов и сериалов.Однако, разные форс-мажорные ситуации, связанные с глупостью людей, коварством корпоратов и хитрыми планами искусственных интеллектов заставляют Киллербота выяснять, что происходит и решать эти опасные проблемы. И еще – Киллербот как-то со всем связан, а память об этом у него стерта. Но истина где-то рядом. Полное издание «Дневников Киллербота» – весь сериал в одном томе!Поздравляем! Вы – Киллербот!Весь цикл «Дневники Киллербота», все шесть романов и повестей, которые сделали Марту Уэллс звездой современной научной фантастики!Неосвоенные колонии на дальних планетах, космические орбитальные станции, власть всемогущих корпораций, происки полицейских, искусственные интеллекты в компьютерных сетях, функциональные андроиды и в центре – простые люди, которым всегда нужна помощь Киллербота.«Я теперь все ее остальные книги буду искать. Прекрасный автор, высшая лига… Рекомендую». – Сергей Лукьяненко«Ироничные наблюдения Киллербота за человеческим поведением столь же забавны, как и всегда. Еще один выигрышный выпуск сериала». – Publishers Weekly«Категорически оправдывает все ожидания. Остроумная, интеллектуальная, очень приятная космоопера». – Aurealis«Милая, веселая, остросюжетная и просто убийственная книга». – Кэмерон Херли«Умная, изобретательная, брутальная при необходимости и никогда не сентиментальная». – Кейт Эллиот

Марта Уэллс , Наталия В. Рокачевская

Фантастика / Космическая фантастика / Научная Фантастика