"Mack Reynolds - Ability Quotient" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

mind. He got up and explored the bathroom that led off the master
bedroom. It was ultramodern, as was the rest of the suite, and was well
stocked with a man's toilet articles.

He performed standard ablutions, then returned to where he had left
his suitcases. He opened them in search for clean clothing but then
something came to him He went over to one of the huge closets and
opened it. There were at least a dozen suits, obviously brand new, inside.
He turned and went over to a set of drawers and inside found a wide
selection of shirts, underclothing, socks, a veritable warehouse of clothing.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it would fit him. It did, suits and all, and
was of a quality he had never experienced. He went on a search for shoes
and found them, a score of pairs, running from dress shoes to loafers.

When he was fully dressed, he stared at himself in a full length mirror.
"Beyond dreams of avarice," he muttered.

The door screen summoned him before he had decided whether to take
another of the brown pills and give his next subject a whirl.

It was the lardy Professor Marsh, as well turned out and as
condescending as ever, and with oversized briefcase in hand. As soon as he
was in the door, he said, "Now, what was this about being poisoned? How
do you feel?"

"Better," Bert said, leading the way back to the living room. "Listen,
what's all this about?"

"First, the alleged poisoning."

Bert took him to the bar and indicated the Scotch. "I knocked back
about two ounces of that and in no time flat, passed out like a light."

At Bert's nod, he removed the top, poured himself a small portion and
drank it.

"You'll be sorry," Bert told him sourly.

But there was no reaction. Marsh said testily, "You were under the
influence of the ganglioside?"

"The what?"

"The brown pill."

"That's right."

"It never occurred to us. Evidently, alcohol is toxic when you are, ah,
turned on."