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

something routine and unimpressive. He ducked under the low door, sat down beside her, lifted the flier
off the ground, swung around the crest of a clump of trees.
“Let me see,” he said, “six would be…”
 “Turn it a bit to your right, Malloy. That’s enough.”
Air whined by as he upped the speed. Cabin heat increased and the cooling unit came on. The ground
streamed by far below, flattened by the height.
He said, in a fatherly tone, “This would be a long trip afoot, the way you people seem to travel.”
“Several days, Malloy. Through country where pine woods cover the hills, where silvery fish leap high
in the lakes, where the trees hold wild honey. At dusk you come to a village. You are always made
welcome. Cheese and bread and wine and dancing in the dusk, and the fireflies are like little lanterns.”
“Oh,” he said distantly.
“But your way is, of course, much quicker,” she added.
“I see the Center,” he said.


HE BROUGHT the flier around in a long swooping curve and dropped it lightly onto cleared land
outside the gates. Even as he got out he saw people walking in the wide pastel streets of the Center. It
was like a scene from home. They wore clothes of all shades, hues, fancies, whims. A completely
anachronistic shack stood outside the gate, though. A tall young man with a full blond beard sat with his
back against the door frame. He grinned and stood up as Malloy and Deen approached. He wore the
crude garments of the villagers.
“Thomason, isn’t it?” he asked.
“That’s right. This is just an inspection trip.”
“Go right ahead,” he said.
He turned to a metallic plate set beside the rude door, depressed a switch. Malloy, slightly baffled,
followed Deen through the gate. As he passed through he felt the momentary tingle of a space-twist fence
temporarily reversed.
Then he straightened his shoulders. He walked beside Thomason. “You see how pleasant life can be
in a Center?” he asked proudly.
A well-larded woman sat in the sun playing with two romping fuzzy creatures she had created out of
the mental projector. Beyond her a man slept propped against a wall, half-empty bottles surrounding him.
“Very pleasant,” Thomason said.
“They all have everything they want. Who would want to live out in the brush when everything is right
here, within arm’s reach? Exotic foods, toys, amusement.”
“Who indeed?” Thomason stressed with gentle irony. Malloy beamed at the colonists. They had the
familiar triple chins of the home planet, the same shortness of breath, the same bland look that comes of
satiety in all things. But he was puzzled by the way they stared at the two of them. Dulled eyes, with the
glow of resentment almost submerged.
At the end of the street he stopped. “But the rest of the Center is empty!” he said.
“Yes. There’s just this one street. We can’t go any farther. The fence will stop us.”
She turned and started back. He caught her in two quick strides, grasped her arm and pulled her
around roughly. “Why have you people installed a twist fence around this street?”
 “Because there’s no need to put it around a bigger area.”
“Why put it around any area?” he shouted into her face.
“You are rude,” she said coldly. “And more stupid than I thought. We’ll walk back slowly. Look at
their faces, Malloy. Look long and well. You see, this is the penal colony for this planet.”
The breath whoofed out of him. “Penal? But… Wait. Anybody who lives here can have every last
thing they want.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Subdued, he walked beside her and he looked at their faces.