"Mack Reynolds - Planetary Agent X" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

fighting that the aristocracy carried on. Very similar to Europe back
in the Dark Ages.”
“So?” Ronny said. “I’d think that’d be a deal that would take
centuries to change.”
The Section G agent laughed. “Tommy Paine stayed just long
enough to introduce gunpowder. That was the end of those
impregnable castles up on the hills.”
“What gets me,” Ronny said slowly, “is his motivation.”
The other two both grunted agreement to that.




IV

Toward the end of his indoctrination studies, Ronny appeared
one morning at the Octagon Section G offices and before Irene
Kasansky. Watching her fingers fly, listening to her voice rapping
and snapping, O.K.ing and rejecting, he came to the conclusion
that automation could go just so far in office work and then you
were thrown back on the hands of the efficient secretary. Irene was
a one-woman office staff.
She looked up at him. “Hello, Ronny. Thought you’d be off
on your assignment by now. Got any clues on Tommy Paine?”
“No,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see the
commissioner.”
“About what?” She flicked a switch. When a light flickered on
one of her order-boxes, she said into it, “No,” emphatically, and
turned back to him.
“He said he wanted to see me again before I took off.”
She fiddled some more, finally said, “All right, Ronny. Tell
him he’s got time for five minutes with you.”
“Five minutes!”
“Then he’s got an appointment with the Commissioner of
Interplanetary Culture,” she said. “You’d better hurry along.”
Ronny Bronston retraced the route of his first visit here. How
long ago? It already seemed ages since his probationary
appointment. Your life changed fast when you were in Section G.
Ross Metaxa’s brown bottle, or its twin, was sitting on his
desk and he was staring at it glumly. He looked up and scowled.
“Ronald Bronston,” Ronny said. “Irene Kasansky told me to
say I could have five minutes with you, and then you have an
appointment with the Commissioner of Interplanetary Culture.”
“I remember you,” Metaxa said. “Have a drink. Interplanetary
Culture, ha! The Xanadu Folk Dance Troupe. They dance nude.
They’ve been touring the whole UP. Roaring success everywhere,
obviously. Now they’re assigned to Virtue, a planet settled by a
bunch of Fundamentalists. They want the troupe to wear Mother
Hubbards. The Xanadu outfit is in a tizzy. They’ve been insulted.
They claim they’re the most modest members of UP, that nudity