"HEINLEIN, Robert A. - The Cat Who Walked Through Walls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

The scooter's brain, off somewhere near ring ten, accepted those
coordinates and waited; I punched in my credit code and took position, crouched
against acceleration pads.
That idiot brain took an insultingly long time to decide that my credit was
good-then placed a web around me, tightened it, closed the capsule and whuff'!
bing! barn! we were on our way... then a fast float for three kilometers from
ring thirty to ring one-oh-five, then barn! bing! whuff! I was in Gretna Green.
The scooter opened.
For me such service is well worth the fare. But the Manager had been
warning us the past two years that the system does not pay its way; either use
it more or pay more per trip, or the hardware will be salvaged and the space
rented out. I hope they work out a solution; some people need this service.
(Yes, I know; Laffer theory will always give two solutions to such a problem, a
high and a low-except where the theory states that both solutions are the
same... and imaginary. Which might apply here. It may be that a scooter system
is too expensive for a space habitat at the present state of engineering art.)
It was an easy walk to Gwen's compartment: downstairs to seven-tenths
gravity, fifty meters "forward" to her number-I rang.
Her door answered, "This is the recorded voice of Gwen Novak. I've gone to
bed and am, I hope, happily asleep. If your visit is truly an emergency, deposit
one hundred crowns via your credit code. If I agree that waking me is justified,
I will return your money. If I disagree-laugh, chortle, chuckle!- I'll spend it
on gin and keep you out anyhow. If your call is not an emergency, please record
a message at the sound of my scream."
This was followed by a high scream which ended abruptly as if a hapless
wench had been choked to death.
Was this an emergency? Was it a hundred-crown emergency? I decided that it
was not any sort of emergency, so I recorded:
"Dear Gwen, this is your fairly-faithful swain Richard speaking. Somehow we
got our wires crossed. But we can straighten it out in the morning. Will you
call me at my digs when you wake up? Love and kisses, Richard the Lion-Hearted."

I tried to keep my not-inconsiderable irk out of my voice. I felt badly
used but underlying it was a conviction that Gwen would not intentionally
mistreat me; it had to be an honest mixup even though I did not now understand
it.
Then I went home whuff! bing! barn!... barn! bing! whuff!
I have a deluxe compartment with bedroom separate from the living room. I
let myself in, checked for messages in the terminal-none-set it for sleep
conditions both for door and terminal, hung up my cane, and went into the
bedroom.
Gwen was asleep in my bed.
She looked sweetly peaceful. I backed out quietly, moved noiselessly in
undressing, went into the 'fresher, closed the door-soundproof; I said it was a
deluxe setup. Nevertheless I made as little noise as possible in refreshing
myself for bed, as "soundproof" is a hope rather than a certainty. When I was as
sanitary and odorless as a male hairless ape can manage short of surgery, I went
quietly back into my bedroom and got most cautiously into bed. Gwen stirred, did
not wake.
At some hour when I was awake in the night, I switched off the alarm. But I