"Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 02 - Memoirs of a Space Traveler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

and incredible story. But, pray, tell me, why you did not rise up against the mechanical monster that
annihilated you, why did you let yourselves be forced. . ."
The Phool jumped up. His whole figure expressed great rage.
"Insult us not, traveler!" he exclaimed. "You speak hastily, so I forgive you. . . Ponder what I
have told you, and you must reach the conclusion that the Machine is abiding by the principle of Civic
Initiative, and, though this may seem a little strange, it has done the Phoolian people a valuable service,
for there can be no injustice where the law upholds liberty. And what man would prefer the diminution of
his freedom to. . ."
He did not finish, for there was an ear-piercing screech and the jasper portal opened majestically.
At this sight all the Phools sprang to their feet and ran up the stairs.
"O Phool, Phool!" I cried, but my companion merely waved his hand at me, said, "I have no
time," and bounded up behind the others to disappear inside the palace.
I stood for a long while, and then I saw a column of black robots; they marched to the palace
wall, opened a hatch, and rolled out a long row of disks that gleamed beautifully in the sun. They rolled
the disks to an open field and there completed an unfinished design in some pattern. The palace portal
was still wide open; I took a few steps to look inside, but a shiver went down my spine.
The Machine parted its metal lips and invited me in.
 "What do you take me for, a Phool?" I replied.
I turned sharply and headed for the rocket, and in a minute was behind the controls, taking off at
top speed.




Further Reminiscences of Ijon Tichy

I

You want me to tell you another story? Yes, I see that Tarantoga has already taken out his note
pad. . . Professor, wait. I really haven't anything to tell. What? No, truthfully. And besides, can't I remain
silent for once at our evening get-together? Why? My friends, I've never mentioned it, but the Universe is
inhabited principally by beings like us. I don't mean humanoids, I mean beings as like us as two peas in a
pod. Half the inhabited planets resemble Earth; some are a little larger, some a little smaller, some have a
cooler or a warmer climate, but what kind of differences are those? And their inhabitants. . . the people
-- they are people, after all -- resemble us so much that the differences only emphasize the similarities. I
haven't told you about them? Does that seem strange? Think about it. When I gaze at the stars, I recall
various events; various scenes pass before me. But mainly I think back on those that are out of the
ordinary. They might be terrifying, or weird, or macabre, or even funny, by virtue of being harmless. But
to gaze at the stars, my friends, and to know that those small, bluish-white sparks are -- when you set
foot on them -- kingdoms of squalor, ignorance, and all manner of ruin; that the dark-blue sky up there is
also full of old shacks, dirty yards, gutters, garbage dumps, overgrown cemeteries. . . Should the stories
of one who has toured the Galaxy sound like the complaint of a peddler who knocks about provincial
towns? Who would want to listen? And who would believe it? Such thoughts come to you when you're
depressed or feel an unhealthy urge to tell the truth. So, then -- in order not to sadden or mortify you --
nothing about the stars today. I'll tell you a story -- otherwise you'd feel cheated -- but it won't be a
journey. After all, I've had a few experiences on Earth as well. Professor, if you must, you can start
taking notes.
As you know, I have guests -- sometimes very strange guests. In particular, a certain category:
the Unappreciated Inventor and Scientist. I don't know why, but I've always attracted that type like a
magnet. Tarantoga's smiling, but I don't mean him; he's hardly an unappreciated inventor. Today I shall