"Philip Jose Farmer - Dayworld rebel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

had to do was to look at the screens showing the interior of Duncan's rooms. If Duncan was outside
the cylinder, the monitor would send guards up to make sure that Duncan was put into the cylinder.
The next few seconds decided whether Duncan would get away with his plan. He strode to the
Wednesday cylinder, grasped the handle of its door, swung it open, and stepped inside. Then he
shut the door and crouched down.
Several things could be happening down in the monitor room. The man at the station could be bored
and not paying much attention. His eyes could be elsewhere than where they were supposed to be. He
could have turned his head during the brief time that Duncan had strode from the Tuesday cylinder
to Wednesday's. He could be talking to other monitors. Duncan had a dim memory of having been in
that room more than once, though he did not remember who he was then or when he had been there.
Probably when he had been Caird the policeman, the organic. The psychicist had mentioned that
name.
Whatever was going on down there, Duncan knew that he would find out very quickly. If-oh, he hoped
not!-the monitor was carrying out his duties, he would be closely watching the twelve screens. He
would notice that Duncan was trying to pull a fast one. Within two minutes, guards would open the
door of Wednesday's cylinder. Like it or not, he would be thrust into Tuesday's.
No light would be flashing on the panel for the cylinder Duncan was hiding in. That cylinder was
Wednesday's business. When its personnel took over, a button would be pressed to switch monitoring
to that day's circuits. Thus, the monitor now down there would not be notified that someone had
entered the wrong stoner.
Duncan thought, the wrong one is the right one for me.
At least two minutes passed. By then the stoning power had


been automatically applied within Tuesday's cylinder. If he had been in it, he would be
unconscious now, every molecule in his body slowed so that his body was the hardest substance in
the universe. In that state, he could be hurled into the sun and sink to its center, and he would
not melt in the slightest.
OK, he thought. Now the monitor has seen the light indicating that I'm stoned. He'll scan the
twelve screens and make sure that none of his charges are hiding in the bedroom. He'll also press
a button that will activate a mass detector to make sure I'm not in the bathroom. I hope he
doesn't look closely at the windows of the cylinders to be certain there's a face behind
Tuesday's. He might do that. Duncan was counting on the carelessness borne of yawn-making routine.



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He began counting the minutes. When five had passed, he knew that his deception had worked. For
the next fifteen minutes, he would be free to do what he wanted to do. The city was stoned, out of
its gourd in one sense. His monitor and the guards had entered their cylinders, and it would be
twelve minutes at least before Wednesday's came out of their stoners and took up their duties.
He had some extra time. The lights for this cylinder would not be on. Wednesday's monitor had no
reason to check out this room.
However, Duncan wanted to get out of this place before today's citizens were awake. He had to be
long gone, relatively speaking, before people appeared on the streets.
He stood up and pushed the door open. He stepped out. He felt strange because no one would be
watching him. He was free of the ever-watchful eyes, but, at the same time, no one cared about
him. He was really alone.