"Dick - We Can Remember it For You Wholesale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

And he remembered something else. Their reason for
sending him to Mars; the job he had done.
No wonder they had expunged his memory.
"Oh god," the first of the two Interplan cops said, breaking
off his conversation with his companion. Obviously, he had
picked up Quail's thoughts. "Well, this is a far worse problem,
now; as bad as it can get." He walked toward Quail, again
covering him with his gun. "We've got to kill you," he said.
"And right away."
Nervously, his fellow officer said, "Why right away? Can't
we simply cart him off to Interplan New York and let
them"
"He knows why it has to be right away," the first cop said;
he too looked nervous, now, but Quail realized that it was for
an entirely different reason. His memory had been brought
back almost entirely, now. And he fully understood the
officer's tension.
"On Mars," Quail said hoarsely, "I killed a man. After
getting past fifteen bodyguards. Some armed with sneaky-pete
guns, the way you are." He had been trained, by Interplan,
over a five year period to be an assassin. A professional killer.
He knew ways to take out armed adversaries . . . such as these
two officers; and the one with the ear-receiver knew it, too.
If he moved swiftly enough
The gun fired. But he had already moved to one side, and
at the same time he chopped down the gun-carrying officer. In
an instant he had possession of the gun and was covering the-
other, confused, officer.
. "Picked my thoughts up," Quail said, panting for breath.
"He knew what I was going to do, but I did it anyhow."
Half sitting up, the injured officer grated, "He won't use
that gun on you, Sam; I pick that up, too. He knows he's
finished, and he knows we know it, too. Come on, Quail."
Laboriously, grouting with pain, he got shakily to his feet. He
held out his hand. "The gun," he said to Quail. "You can't use
it, and if you turn it over to me I'll guarantee not to kill you;
you'll be given a hearing, and someone higher up in Interplan
will decide, not me. Maybe they can erase your memory once
more; I don't know. But you know the thing I was going to
kill you for; I couldn't keep you from remembering it. So my
reason for wanting to kill you is in a sense past."
Quail, clutching the gun, bolted from the conapt, sprinted
for the elevator. If you follow me, he thought, I'll kill you. So
don't. He jabbed at the elevator button and, a moment later,
the doors slid back.
The police hadn't followed him. Obviously they had picked
up his terse, tense thoughts and had decided not to take the
chance.
With him inside the elevator descended. He had gotten
awayfor a time. But what next? Where could he go?