"H. Beam Piper & J. J. McGuire - Null-ABC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

"Well, whattaya know; that guy was plugging for you!" Ray said. "And see how he managed to slide in
that bit about corruption, right before his stooge handed him that bulletin?"
"I guess every Literate has his price," Chester Pelton said. "I wonder how much of my money that cost. I
always wondered why Frank Cardon sponsored Mongery. Now I know. Mongery can be had."

"Uh, beg your pardon, Mr. Pelton," a voice from the hall broke in.

He turned. Olaf Olafsson, the 'copter driver, was standing at the entrance to the breakfast nook, a
smudge of oil on his cheek and his straw-colored hair in disorder. "How do I go about startin' this new
'copter?"

"What?" Olaf had been his driver for ten years. He would have been less surprised had the ceiling fallen
in. "You don't know how to start it?"

"No, sir. The controls is all different from on the summer model. Every time I try to raise it, it backs up; if
I try to raise it much more, we won't have no wall left on the landing stage."

"Well, isn't there a book?"

"There ain't no pictures in it; nothing but print. It's a Literate book," Olaf said in disgust, as though at
something obscene. "An' there ain't nothin' on the instrument board but letters."

"That's right," Ray agreed. "I saw the book; no pictures in it at all."

"Well, of all the quarter-witted stupidity! The confounded imbeciles at that agency—"

Pelton started to his feet. Claire unlocked the table and slid it out of his way. Ray, on a run, started for
the lift and vanished.

"I think some confounded Literate at the Rolls-Cadipac agency did that," he fumed. "Thought it would be
a joke to send me a Literate instruction book along with a 'copter with a Literate instrument board. Ah, I
get it! So I'd have to call in a Literate to show me how to start my own 'copter, and by noon they'd be
laughing about it in every bar from Pittsburgh to Plattsburg. Sneaky Literate trick!" They went to the lift,
and found the door closed in their faces. "Oh, confound that boy!"

Claire pressed the button. Ray must have left the lift, for the operating light went on, and in a moment the
door opened. He crowded into the lift, along with his daughter and Olaf.

On the landing stage, Ray was already in the 'copter, poking at buttons on the board.

"Look, Olaf!" he called. "They just shifted them around a little from the summer model. This one, where
the prop-control used to be on the old model, is the one that backs it up on the ground. Here's the one
that erects and extends the prop,"—he pushed it, and the prop snapped obediently into place—"and
here's the one that controls the lift."

An ugly suspicion stabbed at Chester Pelton, bringing with it a feeling of frightened horror.
"How do you know?" he demanded.

Ray's eyes remained on the instrument hoard. He pushed another button, and the propeller began
swinging in a lazy circle; he pressed down with his right foot, and the 'copter lifted a foot or so.