"Robert A. Heinlein - The unpleasant profession of Johathan Ho" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

be cleared up. We do not like your activity, Mr. Randall. You really must cease it."
 Before Randall could answer, Stoles shoved a palm in his direction. "Don't be
hasty, Mr. Randall. Let me explain. Not all of your activities. We do not care how many
blondes you plant in hotel rooms to act as complacent correspondents in divorce cases,
nor how many wires you tap, nor letters you open. There is only one activity of yours we
are concerned with. I refer to Mr. Hoag." He spat out the last word.
Randall could feel a stir of uneasiness run through the room.
"What about Mr. Hoag?" he demanded. There was the stir again. Stoles' face no
longer even pretended to smile.
"Let us refer to him hereafter," he said, "as 'your client.' It comes to this, Mr.
Randall. We have other plans for Mr. -- for your client. You must leave him alone. You
must forget him, you must never see him again."
Randall stared back, uncowed. "I've never welshed on a client yet. I'll see you in
hell first."
"That," admitted Stoles, shoving out his lips, "is a distinct possibility, I grant you,
but one that neither you nor I would care to contemplate, save as a bombastic metaphor.
Let us be reasonable. You are a reasonable man, I know, and my confreres and I, we are
reasonable creatures, too. Instead of trying to coerce or cajole you I want to tell you a
story, so that you may understand why."
"I don't care to listen to any stories. I'm leaving."
"Are you really? I think not. And you will listen!"
He pointed a finger at Randall; Randall attempted to reply, found that he could
not. "This," he thought, "is the damnedest no-pants dream I ever had. Shouldn't eat before
going to bed -- knew better."

"In the Beginning," Stoles stated, "there was the Bird." He suddenly covered his
face with his hands; all the others gathered around the table did likewise.
The Bird -- Randall felt a sudden vision of what those two simple words meant
when mouthed by this repulsive fat man; no soft and downy chick, but a bird of prey,
strong-winged and rapacious-unwinking eyes, whey-colored and staring-purple wattles --
but most especially he saw its feet, bird feet, covered with yellow scales, fleshless and
taloned and foul from use. Obscene and terrible --
Stoles uncovered his face. "The Bird was alone. Its great wings beat the empty
depths of space where there was none to see. But deep within It was the Power and the
Power was Life. It looked to the north when there was no north; It looked to the south
when there was no south; east and west It looked, and up and down. Then out of the
nothingness and out of Its Will It wove the nest.
"The nest was broad and deep and strong. In the nest It laid one hundred eggs. It
stayed on the nest and brooded the eggs, thinking Its thoughts, for ten thousand thousand
years. When the time was ripe It left the nest and hung it about with lights that the
fledglings might see. It watched and waited.
"From each of the hundred eggs a hundred Sons of the Bird were hatched -- ten
thousand strong. Yet so wide and deep was the nest there was room and to spare for each
of them -- a kingdom apiece and each was a king -- king over the things that creep and
crawl and swim and fly and go on all fours, things that had been born from the crevices
of the nest, out of the warmth and the waiting.
"Wise and cruel was the Bird, and wise and cruel were the Sons of the Bird. For
twice ten thousand thousand years they fought and ruled and the Bird was pleased. Then
there were some who decided that they were as wise and strong as the Bird Itself. Out of
the stuff of the nest they created creatures like unto themselves and breathed in their