"Foster, Alan Dean - Humanx 5 - Sentenced To Prism" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

strolling through a whirlwind. Sam­stead's weather was the reason for the
invention of the Samstead duty suit. What had evolved from necessity had been
metamorphosed by custom and fashion into some­thing considerably more elaborate.
Scientific invention had unintentionally paved the way for the establishment of
a social convention that was unique to Samstead.
Seram Machoka was waiting for him. Since no desk was visible in the president's
office, it was apparent that the meeting was going to be conducted on an
informal basis. That suited Evan just fine. He was at his best when the
diplomatic niceties did not have to be observed.
He walked right in, unchallenged by human or mechan­ical intervention. It all
looked very casual, but his prog­ress was being monitored by company security.
There was no reason to stop him. He was a known company man, in a known company
suit.
Machoka smiled and waved Evan to a couch with­out rising from the lounger on
which he reclined. Then he turned away as if suddenly disinterested to look
through the transparent outside wall at the storm still engulfing the city.
He was wearing a supervisorial communicator's suit modified to resemble leather.
A series of concentric cir­cles and alternating bands of yellow and white
decorated the upper half of the suit, rising from his waistband to his right
shoulder. The left side of the suit bulged slightly. It was stuffed with tactile
controls and contact points. A desk was nothing more than a quaint formality.
Machoka's suit could put him in contact with every division of the company.
Evan waited patiently, supremely confident as always but hard pressed to
restrain his curiosity. He'd never met Machoka before. There had been no reason
for the two men to meet. Evan was an employee of the company and Machoka its
president. They moved on different levels. Now there was reason for those levels
to interact, and he was intrigued.
His colleagues at work had teased him about the sum­mons though Evan wasn't easy
to tease. That was part of his personality, the part that sometimes angered
those who didn't know him and put off those who did. He couldn't understand why
he could gain everyone's respect but not their affection. He was friendly and
outgoing, always willing to help anyone with a problem. Could he help it if he
was smarter than them? His tall frame didn't help in cozying up to
acquaintances. Tall people intimi­dated, short people ingratiated. We're still
primitives at heart, he always reminded himself.
A few close friends understood him well enough to take his daily Olympian
pronouncements with a grain of salt and to joke with him about the drawbacks of
his personality. They were there to congratulate him on his summons. It might
involve a big step up the corporate ladder.
At least Evan's size wouldn't put Machoka on the defensive. The company
president was as tall as Evan, though much darker of skin and scarcer of hair.
He wore spiral tattoos on his forehead and neck, and big round metal earrings. A
titanium arrowhead was glued to his shaved forehead. His personal adornment was
confined to the skull. He wore no rings or bracelets and nothing on his suit.
The suit was all business.
Eventually Machoka turned away from the storm to regard his visitor. " Do sit
down, Orgell."
Despite the office owner's admirable efforts to convey a feeling of ease and
relaxation, Evan sensed the tense­ness in the president's voice.
He folded himself into the couch. It was close to the transparent wall. A couple