"Gordon R. Dickson - The Last Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

come from a Mr. Lehon Wessel, the local underofficial of the World Bank, in Hilo, to whom Ett had
gone to arrange financing for the medical costs of the revivification.
 “I’m afraid it’s a problem,” said Lehon Wessel. .He was a thick-bodied, long-legged man in his late
thirties, with hair bleached and skin burned red by the sun. His voice was soft and regretful. “Your assets
and your income simply don’t suggest the means to support the expense of your brother’s operation.”

“I know that,” said Ett impatiently. “I knew that before I came in here. But aren’t there compassionate
grants or special funds from the World Economic Council that could help me out or that I could borrow
from?”

Lehon Wessel smiled sadly.

“Of course there are,” he answered. “But it’s a complicated matter, getting monetary support from them.
And to be frank with you, Mr. Ho, in yourcase any effort like that would be wasted from the start. Such
funds are intended for the exceptional situation and the exceptional individual.

“If it’s not an exceptional case to have a man commit suicide because of a bad reaction to RIV, what
is?” demanded Ett. “That bad a reaction’s an exception all by itself. It’s as uncommon as the freak good
one that makes an R-Master. And how many R-Masters are there? One in a few tens of millions of the
people who try RIV.”

“Of course,” said Lehon Wessel.

“Well?” said Ett. “Can I apply for the funds, or can 11?

“You can fill out an application,” said Wessel.

He gave Ett a thick sheaf of printout forms to be filled in. Ett took them back with him to the hotel where
he was staying and discovered that he was required to be an expert not only on his own personal history,
but on Wally’s. He called up Wessel to protest.

“What is this?” demanded Ett. “Ninety-nine percent of this information’s already available in Wally’s files
and mine, in the Council’s central data bank!”

“Of course,” said Wessel. “But regulations require the applicant make out these forms. I’m sorry.”

So Ett laboriously filled out the forms and returned them to the appropriate offices. After a wait of nearly
two weeks, he was called in by a man who was Wessel’s immediate superior.

“Come now, Mr. Ho,” said the superior, leaning forward confidentially across his desk. He was a lean,
smooth man with neatly trimmed brown hair and a smile that seemed to go and come on cue. “You surely
don’t want to try to push through these requests for funds? I’m not here to discourage anyone, of course,
but in your own interest I’ve got to tell you that your chances of success with this just aren’t there.
Assistance from these sources is reserved only for those obviously deserving.”

“My brother isn’t deserving?” Ett stared at him. “It was in an effort to make himself more useful to the
world that he had the bad reaction from the RIV that led to his suicide.”

“Oh, of course—your brother!” said the other man. “But it isn’t your brother who’s the applicant here.
It’s you. And to be frank, Mr. Ho, nothing in your life record shows any promise that you’d ever be able