"John Dalmas - The Puppet Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dalmas John)

“Considering the track records of all the earlier mathematical super-theories, Ali-Hasad’s will probably turn
out to have serious holes and loose ends, but . . .”
He stopped and grinned, shaking his head ruefully. “You punched my buttons,” he said. “And I suppose
you’re recording this.”
I was, and admitted it. My audio recorder was in my shoulder bag, beside my chair. “But you’ll have a chance
to critique the manuscript,” I told him.
“Hmh! That’s something, anyway. As for my work, it has no theory. It’s totally empirical.”
He turned serious again. “I’m not worried about explanations. Arne Haugen had only a rough notion of the
basis for the geogravitic power converter, but that didn’t keep him from inventing it. I’ve established a certain
predictive and planning value in a revised and sharpened form of astrology I developed empirically. It’s no big
deal to me if the astronomical community doesn’t accept it. I’d have given odds of a hundred to one against it,
and taken all the bets I could cover.
“My career doesn’t depend on anyone’s approval. My degrees are in astronomy, but I’ve never been
employed in it. I made my initial money in computer software and consulting, back in the days before the
personal computer. My real wealth I made through investments. Guided, I might add, by every predictive tool,
including astrology, that I could program. Also I have clients, as many as I care to deal with, who don’t give a
damn about explanations, and even less about compatibility with current theory. They’re interested in results, and
that’s what I give them.”
With that, he seemed to have run down. I nodded. “And what does Eldon think of all this?”
His eyebrows raised. “You don’t know much about Eldon, do you. He probably doesn’t think about it at all.
He’s an invalid. Been brain-damaged since 1973. From an auto accident.”
“Ah. Then I probably shouldn’t bother him.”
 “I’m quite sure Veronica would prefer that.”
What I said next was a shot in the dark, totally unpremeditated. “Do you, uh, contribute to his support, Mr.
Ashkenazi?”
He frowned. “Really, Mr. Seppanen, I don’t care to . . .” He paused, lips pursing. “I will answer that question.
A number of years ago I set up a trust fund. Not that it’s necessary. Veronica is a capable provider. She’s the
trust fund’s payee of course, not Eldon.
“And she’s a COGS,” he added drily. “COGS put a lot of emphasis on being financially honorable and
intellectually shabby.”
A COGS! She wouldn’t like at all what Ashkenazi was into. The Church of God in Science—COGS—is an
attempt to meld fundamentalist Christian views with classical science. It’s become a fairly major church since the
plagues of 1999 and 2000. It’s how some people are trying to come to terms with the accelerating changes in the
world. The way that COGS feel about anything like astrology or psychic phenomena pretty much ranges between
contempt and hatred.
And suddenly I got the idea that if I checked on Donald C. Pasco, I’d find he was a COGS, too. It would fit
him like pantyhose.
“Thank you, Mr. Ashley—excuse me; Mr. Ashkenazi,” I said getting up. “You’ve been very helpful. I’ll
phone you again when the article begins to take form. To fill holes.”
Calling him Ashley hadn’t been a slip. I wanted to see if he’d react. He had, with a look of annoyance. It
rekindled my curiosity about the name change. “Maybe I’ll start checking my horoscope in the morning paper,” I
added. “It might prove helpful.”

Driving back to Santa Barbara, I examined what I’d learned. I couldn’t see it leading anywhere, but I realized
I liked Arthur Ashkenazi. He seemed like what the Jews call a “mensch,” which I’ve had explained as someone
who is able, responsible, decent, and feeling. I hoped I didn’t learn something discreditable about him.
 5

Meanwhile it was my job to look. So the next morning I hired a statistically sophisticated CPA intern to check
the entries—the dates and contents of the actual publications—and the computations in Ashkenazi’s research. It