"Ron Goulart - A Talent For The Invisible" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

"Okay, okay," cut in Conger. "I'll take the damn job."
A single line of moisture zigzagged down the front of the pixphone oval.
The robot sniffled, rubbed at his vinyl eyeballs. "Excuse me, Agent Conger.
I'm programmed to be sentimental over patriotic speeches."
"That's okay." Conger took a plyochief from a slash pocket in his
running suit to wipe off the phone screen. "Anything else, boss?"
Geer thought, his sunken face wrinkling. "No, that yoohoo data robot I
sent will fill you in on the background, give you what names and addresses
we have. The only other thing I can think of is a word of warning."
"About what?"
"If the National Security Office sticks any of their agents on this same
problem, give them a wide berth and avoid them like the plague, Jake."
"I always do."
Geer was eating his breakfast sandwich again. "Aren't you winded yet?"
"Nope."
"Yark."
The aircab said, "Watch your step, sir."
Conger grabbed his all-purpose valise off the seat, then glanced out the
cab window. "You're six feet above the passenger ramp."
"Which is why I cautioned you to watch out, sir."
"Better get a little closer."
"Geeze," muttered the cab's control box. The hovering craft ratcheted,
snarled and bumped down to within six inches of the ramp leading into
the E65 St. teleport station. "A guy in good shape like you could jump a
few feet."
Near the entrance of the station a chunky partially bald man, who had
most of his hair on the backside of his head, was hitting a book vending
machine. "You only printed me out chapters XXXVIII through LXVII of
Moby Dick," he was complaining. "It says right on your front Two-Buck
Klassics, Complete & Unexpurgated." When the half-haired man noticed
Conger he blushed, stopped whacking at the book machine.
Giving him a nod, Conger passed on into the medium-sized station. He
crossed to the reservation desk and said to the girl there, "Reservation for
Jake Conger."
The girl behind the curving aluminum desk was blonde with upturned
synthetic breasts. She smiled while she flicked the retrieval switches in
front of her. "Yes, here we are. The 11 o'clock teleport for Lisbon. You've
seventeen minutes before you have to hop onto the platform," she said,
smiling still. "Would you like to sleep with me?"
Conger took his teleport chit, pasted it on the lapel of his two-piece
travel suit. "No, thanks," he said, returning the smile.
"You probably aren't in the mood," the attractive blonde said. "Travel
makes you nervous maybe."
"Seventeen minutes isn't nearly enough time," replied Conger. "Besides
which . . ."
"That's exactly what I told Mr. Shellebarger," said the blonde. "This is
his idea. He's, you know, the director of the Manhattan Office of Legalized
Prostitution and he thinks OLP could take in even more revenue if he puts
hookers into all the teleport stations on the island. OLP does so well at
Grand Central Station that he figured . . ."