"Niven, Larry - A Hole In Space (SS Coll)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

"Damn it, I left money to myself!"
"No good." Though the man still smiled, his face was impersonal, remote, Unreachable. A vet smiles reassuringly at a cat due to be fixed. "A dead man can't own property. That was settled in the courts long ago. It wasn't fair to the heirs."
Corbell jerked an unexpectedly bony thumb at his bony chest. "But I'm alive now!"
"Not in law. You can earn your new life. The State will give you a new birth certificate and citizenship if you give the State good reason."
Corbell sat for a moment, absorbing that. Then he got off the table. "Let's get started then. What do you need to know about me?"
"Your name."
"Jerome Branch Corbell."
"Call me Pierce." The checker did not offer to shake hands. Neither did Corbell, perhaps because he sensed the man would not respond, perhaps because they were both noticeably overdue for a bath. "I'm your checker. Do you like people? I'm just asking. We'll test you in detail later."
"I get along with the people around me, but I like my privacy."
The checker frowned. "That narrows it more than you might think. The isolationism you called privacy was-well, a passing fad. We don't have the room for it . . . or the inclination, either. We can't send you to a colony world-"
"I might make a good colonist. I like travel."
"You'd make terrible breeding stock. Remember, the genes aren't yours. No. You get one choice, Corbell. Rammer."
"Rammer?"
"I'm afraid so."
"That's the first strange word you've used since I woke up. In fact-hasn't the language changed at all? You don't even have an accent."
"Part of my profession. I learned your speech through RNA training, many years ago. You'll learn your trade the same way if you get that far. You'll be amazed how fast you learn with RNA shots to help you along. But you'd better be right about liking your privacy, Corbell, and about liking to travel, too. Can you take orders?"
"I was in the army."
"What does that mean?"
"Means yes."
"Good. Do you like strange places and faraway people, or vice versa?"
"Both." Corbell smiled hopefully. "I've raised buildings all over the world. Can the world use another architect?"
"No. Do you feel that the State owes you something?"
There could be but one answer to that. "No."
"But you had yourself frozen. You must have felt that the future owed you something."
"Not at all. It was a good risk. I was dying."
"Ah." The checker looked him over thoughtfully. "If you had something to believe in, perhaps dying wouldn't mean so much."
Corbell said nothing.
They gave him a short word-association test in English. That test made Corbell suspect that a good many corpsicles must date from near his own death in 1970. They took a blood sample, then exercised him to exhaustion and took another blood sample. They tested his pain threshold by direct nerve stimulation-excruciatingly unpleasant-then took another blood sample. They gave him a Chinese puzzle and told him to take it apart.
Pierce then informed him that the testing was over. "After all, we already know the state of your health."
"Then why the blood samples?"
The checker looked at him for a moment. "You tell me."
Something about that look gave Corbell the creepy feeling that he was on trial for his life. The feeling might have been caused only by the checker's rather narrow features, his icy blue gaze and abstracted smile. Still . . . Pierce had stayed with him all through the testing, watching him as if Corbell's behavior was a reflection on Pierce's judgment. Corbell thought carefully before he spoke.
"You have to know how far I'll go before I quit. You can analyze the blood samples for adrenalin and fatigue poisons to find out just how much I was hurting, just how tired I really was."
"That's right," said the checker.
Corbell had survived again.
He would have given up much earlier on the pain test. But at some point Pierce had mentioned that Corbell was the fourth corpsicle personality to be tested in that empty body.
He remembered going to sleep that last time, two hundred and twenty years ago.
His family and friends had been all around him, acting like mourners. He had chosen the coffin, paid for vault space, and made out his Last Will and Testament, but he had not thought of it as dying. He had been given a shot. The eternal pain had drifted away in a soft haze. He had gone to sleep.
He had drifted off wondering about the future, wondering what he would wake to. A vault into the unknown. World government? Interplanetary spacecraft? Clean fusion power? Strange clothing, body paints, nudism? New principles of architecture, floating houses, arcologies?
Or crowding, poverty, all the fuels used up, power provided by cheap labor? He'd thought of those, but they didn't worry him. The world could not afford to wake him if it was that poor. The world he dreamed of in those last moments was a rich world, able to support such luxuries as Jaybee Corbell.
It looked like he wasn't going to see too damn much of it.
Someone led him away after the testing. The guard, walked with a meaty hand wrapped around Corbell's thin upper arm. Leg irons would have been no more effective had Corbell thought of escaping. The guard took him up a narrow staircase to the roof.
The noon sun blazed in a blue sky that shaded to yellow, then brown at the horizon. Green plants grew in close-packed rows on parts of the roof. Elsewhere many sheets of something glassy were exposed to the sunlight.
Corbell caught one glimpse of the world from a bridge between two roofs. It was a cityscape of close-packed buildings, all of the same cold cubistic design.
And Corbell was impossibly high on a narrow strip of concrete with no guardrails at all. He froze. He stopped breathing.
The guard did not speak. He tugged at Corbell's arm, not hard, and watched to see what he would do. Corbell pulled himself together and went on.
The room was all bunks: two walls of bunks with a gap between. The light was cool and artificial, but outside it was nearly noon. Could they be expecting him to sleep? But jet lag had never bothered Corbell. . .
The room was big, a thousand bunks big. Most of the bunks were full. A few occupants watched incuriously as the guard showed Corbell which bunk was his. It was the bottommost in a stack of six. Corbell had to drop to his knees and roll to get into it. The bedclothes were strange: silky and very smooth, even slippery-the only touch of luxury about the place. But there was no top sheet, nothing to cover him. He lay on his side, looking out at the dormitory from near floor level.
Now, finally, he could let himself think:
I'm alive.