"Ron Goulart - Nemo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

and a pair of antique horn-rim spectacles. He was wearing a sleeveless
tweed tunic over his one-piece lycra worksuit. "It's not your fault, not my
fault, a bunch of illiterate savages can't manage their country. You aren't
expected to put the burden of the whole and entire stupid world on your
shoulders."
"Yeah, that's right," agreed Ted.
The philosopher was standing in a sunlit field of high yellow grass. In
the distance rolling hills, dotted with neat thatch-roof cottages, could be
seen. "Here at Utopia East we concentrate on ourselves. That's what my
doctrine of Selfism is all about, chums, about finding out what our true
natures are, about discovering our true likes and dislikes and then . . .
enjoying ourselves!" Dr. Perola laughed a huge laugh, took a large, hearty
deep breath. "Whether you visit us here at our model community nestled
in the Massachusetts countryside or simply join me each morning for
these talks, the thinking of Utopia East can help you, chums. This
morning's talk, for instance, will—"
Buzz! Buzz!
The chair wheeled Ted over to the phone alcove. "I don't want to talk to
that cockeyed Uncle Sam."
Buzz! Buzz!
He picked up the speaker unit. "Hello?"
The plate-size screen glowed on, a freckled man of about the same age
as Ted appeared. It was Wally Klennan, one of Ted's few close friends in
Brimstone. "Going to have to cancel on our lunch today, Ted."
Wally worked at the Repo Bureau, too, and they usually had lunch at
least twice a week. "What's happening?" asked Ted.
"Oh, Connie's got the Brazilian flu again," explained his friend. "We
think that's what it is. Our medgroup android took a look at her over the
phone, says she's probably got all the symptoms of that new bug. So I'm
going to stay home to give her the shots."
"Can't your medical 'bot handle it?"
"Robot's broken down again," said Wally. "They can't get out to fix it
until next April sometime. I'll see you tomorrow probably."
"Okay, give my best to Connie." Ted turned off the phone. He was en
route back to the TV wall when the front door wooshed open.
Haley came in. She was a tall, coltish girl of twenty-seven. Dark-haired
and pale. This morning her long hair was disordered, smudges of black
underlined her wide brown eyes.
"Little late, huh?" said Ted, standing.
"Um," said his pretty wife.
"Don't feel like talking?"
"Oh, Ted. . ."
Getting free of his chair, he went to her. "Something?"
"No, not really. No." Haley shook her head. "Was that Mr. Swedenberg
out on the lawn?"
"Yeah." He touched her cheek. "Swedenberg said he saw some guy out
there with a camera or some kind of listening gadget this morning. That's
sort of odd."
 Haley made a small humming sound, saying nothing.
"Oh, and I had the dream again, the thing about the suitcase. I don't