"Niven, Larry - Cloak Of Anarchy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

It was slow to build. Everyone knew what a copseye did. Nobody thought it through. Two -feathered men chasing a lovely nude? A pretty sight: and why interfere? If she didn't want to be chased, she need only . . . what? And nothing else had changed. The costumes, the people with causes, the people looking for causes, the peoplewatchers, and pranksters
Blank Sign had joined the POPULATION BY COPULATION faction. His grass-stained pink street tunic jarred strangely with their conservative suits, but he showed no sign of mockery; his face was as preternaturally solemn as theirs. Nonetheless they did not seem glad of his company.
It was crowded near the Wilshire exits. I saw enough bewildered and frustrated faces to guess that they were closed. The little vestibule area was so packed that we didn't even try to find out what was wrong with the doors. .
"I don't think we ought to stay here," Jill said uneasily.
I noticed the way she was hugging herself. "Are you cold?"
"No." She shivered. "But I wish I were dressed."
"How about a strip of that velvet cloak?"
"Good!"
We were too late. The cloak was gone.
It was a warm September day, near sunset. Clad only in paper slacks, I was not cold in the least. I said, "Take my slacks."
"No, hon, I'm the nudist." But Jill hugged herself with both arms.
"Here," said Ron, and handed her his sweater. She flashed him a grateful look, then, clearly embarrassed, she wrapped the sweater around her waist and knotted the sleeves.
Ron didn't get it at all. I asked him, "Do you know the difference between nude and naked?"
He shook his head.
"Nude is artistic. Naked is defenseless."
Nudity was popular in a Free Park. That night, nakedness was not. 'There must have been pieces of that cloak all over King's Free Park. I saw at least four that night: one worn as a kilt, two being used as crude sarongs, and one as a bandage.


On a normal day, the entrances to King's Free Park close at six. those who want to stay, stay as long as they like. Usually there au., not many, because there are no lights to be broken in a Free Park; ; taut light does seep in from the city beyond. The copseyes float About, guided by infrared, but most of them are not manned.
Tonight would be different.
It was after sunset, but still light. A small and ancient lady came stumping toward us with a look of murder on her lined face. At first ! thought it was meant for us; but that wasn't it. She was so mad she couldn't see straight.
She saw my feet and looked up. "Oh, it's you. The one who helped break the lawn mower," she said-which was unjust. "A Free Park, is it? A Free Park! Two men just took away my dinner!"
I spread my hands. "I'm sorry. I really am. If you still had it, w c could try to talk you into sharing it."
She lost some of her mad; which brought her embarrassingly close to tears. "Then we're all hungry together. I brought it in a plastic bag. Next time I'll use something that isn't transparent, by d-damn!" She noticed Jill and her improvised sweater-skirt, and. added, "I'm sorry, dear, I gave my towel to a girl who needed it even more.
"Thank you anyway."
"Please, may I stay with you people until the copseyes start working again? I don't feel safe, somehow. I'm Glenda Hawthorne."
We introduced ourselves. Glenda Hawthorne shook our hand. By now it was quite dark. We couldn't see the city beyond the high green hedges, but the change was startling when the lights of West-Wood and Santa Monica flashed on.
The police were taking their own good time getting us some copseyes.
We reached the grassy field sometimes used by the Society for Creative Anachronism for their tournaments. They fight on foot with weighted and padded weapons designed to behave like sword, broad-axes, morning-stars, et cetera. The weapons are bugged so that they won't fall into the wrong hands. The field is big and flat and bare of trees, sloping upward at the edges.
On one of the slopes, something moved.
I stopped. It didn't move again, but it showed clearly in light re-


flected down from the white clouds. I made out something man-shaped and faintly pink, and a pale rectangle nearby.
I spoke low. "Stay here."
Jill said, "Don't be silly. There's nothing for anyone to hide under. Come on."
The blank sign was bent and marked with shoe prints. The man who had been carrying it looked up at us with pain in his eyes. Drying blood ran from his nose. With effort he whispered, "I think they dislocated my shoulder."
"Let me look." Jill bent over him. She probed him a bit, then set herself and pulled hard and steadily on his arm. Blank Sign yelled in ;gain and despair.
"That'll do it." Jill sounded satisfied. "How does it feel?"
"It doesn't hurt as much." He smiled, almost.
"What happened?"
"They started pushing me and kicking me to make me go away. I was doing it, I was walking away. I was. Then someone snatched away my sign--" He stopped for a moment, then went off at a tangent. "I wasn't hurting anyone with my sign. I'm a Psych Major. I'm writing a thesis on what people read into a blank sign. Like the blank sheets in the Rorschach tests."
"What kind of reactions do you get?"
"Usually hostile. But nothing like that." Blank Sign sounded bewildered. "Wouldn't you think a Free Park is the one place you'd find freedom of speech?"
Jill wiped at his face with a tissue from Glenda Hawthorne's purse. She said, "Especially when you're not saying anything. Hey, lion, tell us more about your government by anarchy."
Ron cleared his throat. "I hope you're not judging it by this. King's Free Park hasn't been an anarchy for more than a couple of hours. It needs time to develop."
Glenda Hawthorne and Blank Sign must have wondered what the hell he was talking about. I wished him joy in explaining it to them, and wondered if he would explain who had knocked down the copseyes.
This field would be a good place to spend the night. It was open, with no cover and no shadows, no way for anyone to sneak up on us.
!end I was learning to think like a trite paranoid.