"Fritz Leiber - A Bad Day for Sales" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leiber Fritz)

“Nothing to say?” asked Robie.
“Uh—thank you.”
After a suitable pause, Robie continued, “And how about a nice refreshing drink of Poppy Pop to go
with yourpolly- lop?” The boy lifted his eyes, but didn’t stop licking the candy. Robie waggled his claws
slightly. “Just give me a quarter and within five seconds—“
A little girl wriggled out of the forest of legs. “Give me apolly- lop, too, Robie,” she demanded.
“Rita, come back here!” a woman in the third rank of the crowd called angrily.
Robie scanned the newcomer gravely. His reference silhouettes were not good enough to let him
distinguish the sex of children, so he merely repeated, “Hello, youngster.”
“Rita!”
“Give me apolly- lop!”
Disregarding both remarks, for a good salesman is singleminded and does not waste bait, Robie said
winningly, “I’ll bet you read Junior Space Killers. Now I have here—“
“Uh-uh, I’m a girl. He got a pony-lop.”
At the word “girl,” Robie broke off. Rather ponderously, he said, “I’ll bet you read Gee-Gee Jones,
Space Stripper. Now I have here the latest issue of that thrilling comic, not yet in the stationary vending
machines. Just give me fifty cents and within five—“
“Please let me through. I’m her mother.”
A young woman in the front rank drawled over her powder-sprayed shoulder, “I’ll get her for you,” and
slithered out on six-inch platform shoes. “Run away, children,” she said nonchalantly. Lifting her arms
behind her head, she pirouetted slowly before Robie to show how much she did for her bolero
half-jacket and her form-fitting slacks that melted into skylon just above the knees. The little girl glared at
her. She ended the pirouette in profile.
At this age-level, Robie’s reference silhouettes permitted him to distinguish sex, though with occasional
amusing and embarrassing miscalls. He whistled admiringly. The crowd cheered.
Someone remarked critically to a friend, “It would go over better if he was built more like a real robot.
You know, like a man.”
The friend shook his head. “This way it’s subtler.”
No one in the crowd was watching the newscript overhead as it scribbled, “Ice Pack for Hot Truce?
Vanahdin hints Russ may yield onPakistan .”
Robie was saying, “... in the savage new glamor-tint we have christened Mars Blood, complete with
spray applicator and fit-all fingerstalls that mask each finger completely except for the nail. Just give me
five dollars—uncrumpled bills may be fed into the revolving rollers you see beside my arm—and within
five seconds—“
“No, thanks, Robie,” the young woman yawned.
“Remember,” Robie persisted, “for three more weeks, seductivizing Mars Blood will be unobtainable
from any other robot or human vendor.”
“No, thanks.”
Robie scanned the crowd resourcefully. “Is there any gentleman here . . .” he began just as a woman
elbowed her way through the front rank.
“I told you to come back!” she snapped at the little girl.
“But I didn’t get mypolly- lop!”
“...who would care to . . .”
“Rita!”
“Robie cheated. Ow!”
Meanwhile, the young woman in the half-bolero had scanned the nearby gentlemen on her own. Deciding
that there was less than a fifty per cent chance of any of them accepting the proposition Robie seemed
about to make, she took advantage of the scuffle to slither gracefully back into the ranks. Once again the
path was clear before Robie.
He paused, however, for a brief recapitulation of the more magical properties of Mars Blood, including a