"Robert A. Heinlein - To Sail Beyond the Sunset" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

(Gulp.) No one I knew. No one I would choose to bed with, even were he in
perfect health. Which he was not; that side of the bed was soggy with blood.
(Two gulps and a frisson.) He had bled from his mouth - or his throat had
been cut; I was not sure which and was unwilling to investigate.
So I backed away and looked around for my clothes. I knew in my bones that
this bedroom was part of a hostelry; rooms for hire do not taste like private
homes. It was a luxury suite; it took me a longish time to poke through all the
closets and cubbyholes and drawers and cupboards et cetera . . . and then to
do it all over again when the first search failed to locate my clothes. The
second search, even more thorough, found not a rag - neither his size nor my
size, neither women’s clothes nor men’s.
I decided willy-nilly to telephone the manager, tell him the problem, and let
him cal the cops - and ask him for a courtesy bathing robe or kimono or some
such.
So I looked for a telephone.
Alexander Graham Bell had lived in vain.
I stopped in frustration. ‚Name of a dog! Where have they hidden that
frimping phone?’
A bodyless voice said, ‚Madam, may we offer you breakfast? We are proud
of our Harvest Brunch: a lavish bowl of assorted fresh fruits; a tray of
cheeses; a basket of freshly baked hot breads, crisp breads, and soft breads
with jams and jellies and syrups and Belgian butter. Basted baby barlops en
brochette; drawn eggs Octavian; smoked savannah slinker; farkels in
sweetsour; Bavarian strudel; your choice of still and sparkling wines,
skullbuster Strine beer, Mocha, Kona, Turkish and Proxima coffees~ blended
or straight; all served with -‚
I repressed a gagging reflex. ‚I don’t want breakfast!’
‚Perhaps Madam would enjoy our Holiday Eyeopener: your choice of fruit
juice, a roll hot from our oven, your choice of gourmet jams or jellies, your
choice in a filling but non-fattening hot cup. Served with the latest news, or
background music, or restful silence.’
‚I don’t want to eat!’
The voice answered thoughtfully, ‚Madam, I am a machine programmed for
our food and beverage services. May I switch you to another programme?
Housekeeping? Head porter? Engineering?’
‚Get me the manager!’
There was a short delay. ‚Guest services! Hospitality with a smile! How may I
help you?’
‚Get me the manager!’
‚Do you have a problem?’
‚You’re the problem! Are you a man, or a machine?’
Is that relevant? Please tell me how I can help you.’
‚If you are not the manager, you can’t. Do you run on testicles? Or
electrons?’
‚Madam, I am a machine but a very flexible one. My memories include all
curricula of Procrustes Institute of Hotelier Science, including all case studies
updated to midnight yesterday. If you will be so good as to state your
problem, I will match it at once with a precedent case and show how it was
solved to the satisfaction of the guest. Please?’
‚If you don’t put me through to the manager in nothing flat, I guarantee that