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

appearance; he, McClane' and the senior police officer
crowded into it, and presently they were on their way to
Chicago and Rekal, Incorporated.
"You had better make no errors this time," the police
officer said to heavy-set, nervous-looking McClane.
"I can't see what could go wrong," McClane mumbled,
perspiring. "This has nothing to do with Mars or Interplan.
Single-handedly stopping an invasion of Earth from another
star-system." He shook his head at that. "Wow, what a kid
dreams up. And by pious virtue, too; not by force. It's sort of
quaint." He dabbed at his forehead with a large linen pocket
handkerchief.
Nobody said anything.
"In fact," McClane said, "it's touching."
"But arrogant," the police official said starkly. "Inasmuch
as when he dies the invasion will resume. No wonder he
doesn't recall it; it's the most grandiose fantasy I ever ran
across." He eyed Quail with disapproval. "And to think we
put this man on our payroll."
When they reached Rekal, Incorporated the receptionist,
Shirley, met them breathlessly in the outer office. "Welcome
back, Mr. Quail," she fluttered, her melon-shaped breasts
today painted an incandescent orangebobbing with agita-
tion. "I'm sorry everything worked out so badly before; I'm
sure this time it'll go better."
Still repeatedly dabbing at his shiny forehead with his
neatly-folded Irish linen handkerchief, McClane said, "It
better." Moving with rapidity he rounded up Lowe and
Keeler, escorted them and Douglas Quail to the work area,
and then, with Shirley and the senior police officer, returned
to his familiar office. To wait.
"Do we have a packet made up for this, Mr. McClane?"
Shirley asked, bumping against him in her agitation, then
coloring modestly.
"I think we do." He tried to recall; then gave up and
consulted the formal chart. "A combination," he decided
aloud, "of packets Eighty-one, Twenty, and Six." From the
vault section of the chamber behind his desk he fished out the
appropriate packets, carried them to his desk for inspection.
"From Eighty-one," he explained, "a magic healing rod given
himthe client in question, this time Mr. Quailby the race
of beings from another system. A token of their gratitude."
"Does it work?" the police officer asked curiously.
"It did once," McClane explained. "But he, ahem, you see,
used it up years ago, healing right and left. Now it's only a
memento. But he remembers it working spectacularly." He
chuckled, then opened packet Twenty. "Document from the
UN Secretary General thanking him for saving Earth; this
_isn't precisely appropriate, because part of Quail's fantasy is
that no one knows of the invasion except himself, but for the