"John D. MacDonald - Susceptibility" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacDonald John D)

She was almost as tall as he. He said, as though reasoning with a child, “Wouldn’t it be much simpler
to ask for a heat unit? There’s a field station here, an unlimited power source. All you have to do is…”
“Of course, Malloy. It just so happens that I’d rather do it this way.”
“But…”
She had turned again and was striding along the trail. He had to trot to catch up with her. They
emerged into a second clearing. A crude wooden house sat at the base of a hill, and he was forced to
admit that the setting, with the small busy stream foaming through the rocky channel, was superb.
Primitive, though.
He followed her to the door of the house. It was open.
“Where is your mate?” he asked, realizing too late that his choice of words had been a bit hasty. It
was undiplomatic to point out the backwardness of this unfortunate social order without shrewd
preparation.
She looked more amused than angered. “Sit down, Malloy. I have not yet mated, if that’s what you
Bureau people prefer to call it.”
“You built this house yourself?”
“No. I selected the spot. All the others helped me. It was built in two days. The Bureau would have
been horrified. Everyone working with their hands. Dancing and food that didn’t come from the field
station and a strong brew made from fruits. Very barbaric.”
He sat at a bench beside a wooden table. She lifted a trap door, went down steps and returned with
a corked earthenware jug. She poured a cup of water and handed it to him. The day was warm, the
water cool and sweet.
“Thank you,” he said. She sat opposite him.
He smiled officially. “Well, shall we get to it, Thomason? It took me a long time to find you. And I
didn’t expect anyone like you to be… head of the planet.”
“Let us be accurate, Malloy. This year it happened to be my turn to represent the village at general
meeting, and also the turn of my village to supply the chairman for the meeting.”


MALLOY gave her a pained look. “My dear young woman, my duty involves contacting the person
in charge here. Are you or are you not in charge?”
“If you could say anyone is in charge, I suppose I am.”
“Then you keep the records, I gather. Issue orders. Take care of administration.”
“There are no records to keep, Malloy. I issued one order, I think. I set the day of the next meeting.
And the villages administer themselves.”
 Malloy stood up, walked to the stone fireplace, turned abruptly. “Please, Thomason. A Praecursor
named Zedder was sent here to Able XII seven Earth years ago, five and a half of your years. His job
was to find out why the field station was almost unutilized, why there were no entertainment imports, why
you were canceled off the tour schedules for lack of business. Zedder came here and put his ship on
homing automatic with his resignation fastened to the flight panel. That was so unusual that Able XII was
put on emergency priority. Our press of business is so great that this is the first time you have had Bureau
contact since then.
“I came here expecting to find most of the population gone. At first I thought I was right. No one
seems to live at the Centers the Bureau built for you people. Then I found you of Able XII living out here
in these crude villages and shacks. It has taken me two full weeks to locate you, Thomason. I’m a busy
man. A very busy man. The field station is in perfect working order. I’ve tested it. I projected a perfectly
satisfactory little flier, synthesized foods at random from the list that checked perfectly, even used the
tele-tubes from Center to Center. My job is to find out what’s wrong here, Thomason.”
“Does something have to be wrong?” she demanded.
“Don’t try my patience, Thomason.”
Her gray eyes narrowed a bit. “I can think of very few things I’m more indifferent to, Malloy, than