"Dick, Philip K - Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

"They're immortal, too."
"Are they a superior life form from another system?"
"I've never been able to determine that for sure," Mr. Sloat said, still examining the cat. He
now removed his dust-filmed glasses, peered without them at the half-open mouth. "As I
have conclusively in the case of Wilbur Mercer," he finished almost inaudibly. He cursed,
then, a string of abuse lasting what seemed to Isidore a full minute. "This cat," Sloat said
finally, "isn't false. I knew sometime this would happen. And it's dead." He stared down at the
corpse of the cat. And cursed again.
Wearing his grimy blue sailcloth apron, burly pebble-skinned Milt Borogrove appeared at
the office door. "What's the matter?" he said. Seeing the cat he entered the office and
picked up the animal.
"The chickenhead," Sloat said, "brought it in." Never before had he used that term in front
of Isidore.
"If it was still alive," Milt said, "we could take it to a real animal vet. I wonder what it's worth.
Anybody got a copy of Sidney's? "
"D-doesn't y-y-your insurance c-c-cover this?" Isidore asked Mr. Sloat. Under him his legs
wavered and he felt the room begin to turn dark maroon cast over with specks of green.
"Yes," Sloat said finally, half snarling. "But it's the waste that gets me. The loss of one
more living creature. Couldn't you tell, Isidore? Didn't you notice the difference?"
"I thought," Isidore managed to say, "it was a really good job. So good it fooled me; I
mean, it seemed alive and a job that good — "
"I don't think Isidore can tell the difference," Milt said mildly. "To him they're all alive, false
animals included. He probably tried to save it." To Isidore he said, "What did you do, try to
recharge its battery? Or locate a short in it?
"Y — yes," Isidore admitted.
"It probably was so far gone it wouldn't have made it anyhow," Milt said. "Let the
chickenhead off the hook, Han. He's got a point; the fakes are beginning to be darn near
real, what with those disease circuits they're building into the new ones. And living animals
do die; that's one of the risks in owning them. We're just not used to it because all we see
are fakes."
"The goddamn waste," Sloat said.
"According to M-mercer," Isidore pointed Out, "a-all life returns. The cycle is c-c-complete
for a-a-animals, too. I mean, we all ascend with him, die — "
"Tell that to the guy that owned this cat," Mr. Sloat said.
Not sure if his boss was serious Isidore said, "You mean I have to? But you always handle
vidcalls." He had a phobia about the vidphone and found making a call, especially to a
stranger, virtually impossible. Mr. Sloat, of course, knew this.
"Don't make him," Milt said. "I'll do it." He reached for the receiver. "What's his number?"
"I've got it here somewhere." Isidore fumbled in his work smock pockets.
Sloat said, "I want the chickenhead to do it."
"I c-c-can't use the vidphone," Isidore protested, his heart laboring. "Because I'm hairy,
ugly, dirty, stooped, snaggletoothed, and gray. And also I feel sick from the radiation; I think
I'm going to die."
Milt smiled and said to Sloat, "I guess if I felt that way I wouldn't use the vidphone either.
Come on, Isidore; if you don't give me the owner's number I can't make the call and you'll
have to." He held out his hand amiably.
"The chickenhead makes it," Sloat said, "or he's fired." He did not look either at Isidore or
at Milt; he glared fixedly forward.
"Aw come on," Milt protested.
Isidore said, "I d-d-don't like to be c-c-called a chickenhead. I mean, the d-d-dust has d-d-