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

The scooter slid into the Octagon’s hall traffic and proceeded
up one corridor, down another, twice taking to ascending ramps.
Ronny had read somewhere the total miles of corridors in the
Octagon. He hadn’t believed the figures at the time, but now he
did. He must have traversed several miles before they got to the
Department of Justice alone. It was another quarter mile to the
Bureau of Investigation.
The scooter eventually came to a halt, waited long enough for
Ronny to dismount and then hurried back into the traffic.
He entered the office. A neatly uniformed reception girl with
a harassed and cynical eye looked up from her desk. “Ronald
Bronston?” she said.
 “That’s right.”
“Where’ve you been?” She had a snappy cuteness. “The
commissioner has been waiting for you. Go through that door and
to your left.”
Ronny went through that door and to the left. There was
another door, inconspicuously lettered ROSS METAXA,
COMMISSIONER, SECTION G. Ronny knocked and the door
opened.
Ross Metaxa was a man in the middle years, with a sour
expression and moist eyes, as though he either drank too much or
slept too little. He had been going through a wad of papers, but he
looked up as Ronny entered.
“Sit down,” he said. “You’re Ronald Bronston, eh? What do
they call you—Ronny? It says here you’ve got a sense of humor.
That’s one of the first requirements in this lunatic department.”
Ronny sat down and tried to form some opinions of the other
by his appearance. He was reminded of nothing so much as the
stereotype city editor you saw in the historical romance Tri-Ds. All
that was needed was for Metaxa to start banging on buttons and
yelling something about tearing down the front page, whatever that
meant.
Metaxa said, “It also says you have some queer hobbies. Judo,
small weapons target shooting, mountain climbing—” He looked
up from the reports, “Why does anybody climb mountains?”
Ronny said, “Nobody’s ever figured it out.” That didn’t seem
to be enough, especially since Ross Metaxa was staring at him, so
he added, “Possibly we keep doing it in hopes that someday
somebody’ll find out.”
Ross Metaxa said sourly, “Not too much humor, please. You
don’t act as though getting this position means much to you.”
Ronny said slowly, “I figured out some time ago that every
young man on Earth yearns for a job that will send him shuttling
from one planet to another. To achieve it they study, they sweat,
they make all-out efforts to meet and suck up to anybody they
think might help. Finally, when and if they get an interview for one
of the few openings, they spruce up in their best clothes, put on
their best party manners, present themselves as the sincere, high
I.Q., ambitious young men that they are—and then flunk their