"Frederik Pohl - The Man Who Ate The World (v1.1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

The girl flicked a switch and the life of Anderson Trumie appeared before them, in color, in three dimensions-in miniature.
Robots have eyes; and where the robots go, the eyes of Robot Central go with them. And the robots go everywhere. From the stored files of Robot Central came the spool of tape that was the frightful life story of Sonny Trumie.
The tapes played into the globe-shaped viewer, ten inches high, a crystal ball that looked back into the past. First, from the recording eyes of the robots in Sonny Trumie's nursery. The lonely little boy, twenty years before, lost in the enormous nursery.
"Disgusting!" breathed Kathryn Pender, wrinkling her nose. "How could people live like that?"

Carrick said: "Please, let me watch this. It's important." In the gleaming globe, the little boy kicked at his toys, threw himself across his huge bed, sobbed. Garrick squinted, frowned, reached out, tried to make contact. It was hard. The tapes showed the objective facts, but for a psychist, it was the subjective reality behind the facts that mattered.
Kicking at his toys. Yes, but why? Because he was tired of them-and why was he tired? Because he feared them? Kicking at his toys. Because-because they were the wrong toys? Kicking-hate them! Don't want them! Want-
A bluish flare in the viewing globe. Garrick blinked and jumped, and that was the end of that section.
The colors flowed and suddenly jelled into bright life. Garrick recognized the scene after a moment-it was right there in Fisherman's Island, some pleasure spot overlooking the water. A bar, and at the end of it was Anderson Trumie at twenty, staring somberly into an empty glass. The view was through the eyes of the robot bartender.
Anderson Trumie was weeping.
Once again, there was the objective fact-but the fact behind the fact what was it? Trumie had been drinking, drinking. Why?
Drinking, drinking.
With a sudden sense of shock, Carrick saw what the drink was-the golden, fizzy liquor. Not intoxicating. Not habit-forming! Trumie had become no drunk. It was something else that kept him drinking, drinking, must drink, must keep on drinking, or else--
And again the bluish flare.
There was more- Trumie feverishly collecting objects of art, Trumie decorating a palace, Trumie on a world tour, and Trumie returned to Fisherman's Island.
And then there was no more.

"That," said Roosenburg, "is the file. Of course, if you want the raw, unedited tapes, we can try to get them from Robot Central, but-"
"No." The way things were, it was best to stay away from Robot Central; there might be more breakdowns and there wasn't much time. Besides, something was beginning to suggest itself.
"Run the first one again," said Carrick. "I think maybe I'll find something there."
Garrick made out a quick requisition slip and handed it to Kathryn Pender, who looked at it, raised her eyebrows, shrugged and went off to have it filled.
By the time she came back, Roosenburg had escorted Garrick to the room where the captured Trumie robot lay chained.
"He's cut off from Robot Central," Roosenburg was saying. "I suppose you figured that out. Imagine! Not only has Trumie built a whole city for himself-but even his own Robot Central!"
Garrick looked at the robot. It was a fisherman, or so Roosenburg had said. It was small, dark, black-haired; possibly the hair would have been curly, if the sea water hadn't plastered the curls to the scalp. It was still damp from the tussle that had landed it in the water and eventually into Roosenburg's hands.
Roosenburg was already at work. Garrick tried to think of the robot as a machine, but it wasn't easy. The thing looked very nearly human-except for the crystal and copper that showed where the back of its head had been removed.
"It's as bad as a brain operation," said Roosenburg, working rapidly without looking up. "I've got to short out the input leads without disturbing the electronic balance--"
Snip, snip. A curl of copper fell free, to be grabbed by

Roosenburg's tweezers. The fisherman's arms and legs kicked sharply like a dissected galvanized frog's.
Kathryn Pender said: "They found him this morning, casting nets into the bay and singing 0 Sole Mio. He's from North Guardian, all right."
Abruptly the lights flickered and turned yellow, then slowly returned to normal brightness. Roger Garrick got up and walked over to the window. North Guardian was a haze of light in the sky, across the water.
Click, snap. The fisherman robot began to sing:

Tutte le serre, dopo quel fanal,
Dietro la caserma, ti staro ed-

Click. Roosenburg muttered under his breath and probed further. Kathryn Pender joined Garrick at the window.
"Now you see," she said.
Garrick shrugged. "You can't blame him."
"I blame him I" she said hotly. "I've lived here all my life. Fisherman's Island used to be a tourist spot-why, it was lovely here. And look at it now. The elevators don't work. The lights don't work. Practically all of our robots are gone. Spare parts, construction material, everything-it's all gone to North Guardian! There isn't a day that passes, Garrick, when half a dozen barge-loads of stuff don't go north, because he requisitioned them. Blame him? I'd like to kill him!"
Snap. Sputtersnap. The fisherman lifted its head and caroled:

Forse dommani, piangerai,
E dopo tu, sorriderai--

Roosenburg's probe uncovered a flat black disc. "Kathryn, look this up, will you?" He read the serial number from the disc and then put down the probe. He stood flexing his fingers, looking irritably at the motionless figure.
Garrick joined him. Roosenburg jerked his head at the fisherman.
"That's robot repair work, trying to tinker with their insides. Trumie has his own Robot Central, as I told you. What I have to do is recontrol this one from the substation on the mainland, but keep its receptor circuits open to North Guardian on the symbolic level. You understand what I'm talking about? It'll think from North Guardian, but act from the mainland."
"Sure," said Garrick.
"And it's damned close work. There isn't much room inside one of those things--" He stared at the figure and picked up the probe again.