"Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 03 - The Futurological Congress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

thing that happens on such occasions is the burning of a car with foreign license plates. Flames and
smoke were already rising from the hotel parking lot. Mauvin, standing beside me, rubbed his hands and
chuckled at the sight of his Dodge crackling in the blaze—he had rented it from Hertz. The majority of
the American reporters, however, did not find this amusing. I noticed some people struggling to put out
the fire: these were mainly old men, poorly dressed, and they were hauling water in buckets from a
nearby fountain. That struck me as odd. In the distance, at the far end of the Avenida del Salvación and
the Avenida del Resurrección, police helmets glimmered; yet the square in front of the hotel, with its
surrounding lawns and luxuriant palms, was still empty. Those doddering old men, hoarsely calling to one
another, quickly formed a fire brigade, in spite of their canes and crutches; such gallantry was astounding,
but then I remembered what had happened earlier that day and immediately shared my suspicions with
Mauvin. The rattle of machine guns and the thunder of bursting shells made it difficult to talk; for a while
the Frenchman's keen face showed a total lack of comprehension, but suddenly his eyes lit up. "Aha!" he
roared above the din. "The water! The drinking water! Great God, for the first time in history …
cryptochemocracy!" And with these words he ran back to the hotel like one possessed. To get to a
telephone, apparently. Strange though, that the lines should still be open.
I was standing there in the driveway when Professor Trottelreiner, one of the Swiss futurologists,
joined me. By then the police were doing what they should have done hours ago: wearing black helmets,
shields and gas masks, armed with guns and clubs, they formed a cordon around the whole Hilton
complex to keep back the mob, which was just beginning to pour from the park that separated us from
the city's theater district. With great skill special police units set up grenade launchers and fired these into
the crowd; the explosions were remarkably weak, though they raised thick clouds of whitish smoke. At
first I thought that this was tear gas, but the people, instead of fleeing and choking in fury, clearly began to
huddle around the pale vapors; their shouts quickly died away, and soon I could hear them singing—they
were singing hymns. The reporters, rushing back and forth between the cordon and the hotel entrance
with their cameras and tape recorders, were completely mystified by this, though it was obvious to me
that the police were employing some new pacification chemical, in aerosol form. But then, from the
Avenida del … I can't recall which … another group of people appeared, and these were somehow
unaffected by the grenades, or so it seemed. Later I was told that this group had continued advancing in
order to help the police, not to attack them. Yet who could draw such subtle distinctions in that general
chaos? There were several more salvos of grenades, and that was followed by the characteristic roar and
hiss of a water cannon, then finally the machine guns opened up and the air was filled with the whine of
bullets. They were playing for keeps now, so I ducked behind the low driveway wall, using it like the
breastwork of a trench, and found myself between Stantor and Haynes of the Washington Post. In a
few words I filled them in; they were furious that I had betrayed such a banner-headline secret first to an
AFP man, and crawled full speed back to the hotel, only to return shortly, scowling—the lines were no
longer open. But Stantor had managed to buttonhole the officer in charge of hotel defenses and learned
from him that planes carrying LTN bombs (LTN: Love Thy Neighbor) were now on their way. Then we
were ordered to clear the area, and all the policemen put on gas masks with special filters. We received
masks too.
Professor Trottelreiner was, as luck would have it, a specialist in the field of psychotropic
pharmacology, and he cautioned me not to use the gas mask under any circumstance, as it would cease
to operate at sufficiently high concentrations of aerosol; this would then give rise to the so-called
phenomenon of filter overload, and in an instant one could inhale a much heavier dose than if one
breathed the air without the benefit of a mask. The only sure protection, he said, anticipating my question,
would be a separate oxygen supply; so we went to the hotel desk, managed to catch one receptionist still
on duty and found, with his assistance, a storeroom full of fire-fighting equipment, including plenty of
oxygen masks: Draeger make, with closed circulation. Thus accoutered, the Professor and I returned to
the street, just in time to hear the dreadful, ear-splitting whistle that announced the arrival of the first
planes. As everyone knows, the Hilton was accidentally bombed with LTN minutes after the air raid
commenced; the consequences of that error were disastrous. True, the LTN hit only the far wing of the