"Russell, Eric Frank - Mindwarpers-V1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

"Strange," mused Bransome. "I never thought of him as a fidget. Seemed to me as stolid and as solid as a lump of rock."
"Wanderlust does look out of character for him," Berg admitted. "But you know the old saying: still waters run deep."
"You may be right. I have moments of getting tired of routine-but not tired enough to throw up a good job."
"You have a wife and two kids to keep," Berg pointed out. "Haperny has nobody to consider but himself. He's free to do as he likes. If he wants to switch from scientific research to garbage collecting, I say good luck to him. Somebody's got to move our garbage, else we'd be stuck with it. Have you ever thought of that?"
"My mind dwells on higher things," said Bransome, virtuously.
"It'd drop to lower levels if the junk were piling up in your backyard," Berg retorted.
Ignoring that, Bransome said, "Haperny is stodgy but no dope. He's got a plodding but brilliant mind. If he's taking off it's for a reason better than the one he's seen fit to make public."
"Such as?"
"I don't know. I can only guess. Maybe he's been given another official job elsewhere and is under strict orders to keep his mouth shut."
"Could be. In this uncertain world anything is possible. Someday I may vanish myself-and make good as a strip-teaser."
"What, with that paunch?"
"It will add to the interest," said Berg, patting it fondly.
"Have it your own way." Bransome pondered a short time, then went on, "Now that I come to think of it, this place has been getting its knocks of late."
"Anything regarded as a burden upon the taxpayer is sure to be kicked from time to time," offered Berg. "There is always somebody ready to howl about the expenditure."
"I wasn't considering the latest cost-cutting rigmarole. I was still thinking about Haperny."
"His departure won't wreck the works," asserted Berg. "It'll be no more than a darned inconvenience. Takes time and trouble to replace an expert. The supply of specialists isn't unlimited."
"Precisely! And it seems to me that these days the time and trouble are taken more often."
"How d'you mean?"
"I've been here eight years. For the first six of those our staff losses were no more or less than one would expect. Fellows reached the age of sixty-five and exercised their right to retire on pension. Others agreed to continue working but fell ill or dropped dead sometime later. A few young ones pegged out from natural causes or got themselves killed in accidents. Some people were transferred to more urgent work elsewhere. And so on. As I said, the losses were reasonable."
"Well?" prompted Berg.
"Take a look at the last couple of years and you'll see a somewhat different picture. In addition to the normal sequence of deaths, retirements, and transfers we've had sudden disappearances for unusual reasons. There was McLain and Simpson, for example. Took a vacation up the Amazon, evaporated into thin air and no trace of them has been found."
"That was eighteen months ago," Berg contributed. "It is a good bet that they're dead. Could be anything: drowning, fever, snake-bite or eaten alive by piranhas."
"Then there was Jacobert. Married a wealthy dame who had inherited a big cattle spread in Argentina. He goes there to help manage the place. How's that for a round peg in a square hole? As an exceptionally able chemical engineer he wouldn't know which end of a cow does the mooing."
"He can learn. He'd be doing it for love and money and I cannot imagine better reasons. I'd do the same myself, given the chance."
"And Henderson," continued Bransome. "Another case like Haperny's. Took off on a whim. I heard a rumor that some time later he was found operating a hardware store out west."
"And I heard another rumor that immediately he was found he took off again," said Berg.
"Which reminds me, talking about rumors: there was that one about Muller. Found shot. The verdict was accidental death. Rumor said it was suicide. Yet Muller had no known reason to kill himself and definitely he wasn't the type to be careless with a gun."
"Are you suggesting he was murdered?" asked Berg, giving the other a quizzical look.
"I'm suggesting only that his death was peculiar, to say the least. For the matter of that, so was Arvanian's a couple of months ago. Drove his car off a dockside and into forty feet of water. They said he must have suffered a blackout. He was thirty-two, an athletic type, and in excellent health. The blackout theory doesn't look plausible to me."
"What are your medical qualifications?"
"None," Bransome admitted.
"The fellow who came up with the blackout notion was a fully qualified doctor. Presumably he knew what he was talking about."
"Not saying he didn't. What I am saying is that he made an intelligent guess and not a diagnosis. A guess is a guess is a guess, no matter who makes it."
"Could you offer a better one?"
"Yes-if Arvanian had been a heavy drinker. In that case I'd think it likely he met his end as result of driving while drunk. But he wasn't a boozer as far as I know. Neither was he a diabetic. Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel."
"That could happen," Berg agreed. "I did it myself once. It wasn't brought on by tiredness, either. It was caused by the sheer monotony of driving on a long, lonely road in the dark, hearing the steady hum of the tires and watching the headlight beams swaying. I yawned a few times, then-ker-rash! Found myself sprawled in a ditch with a large lump on my head. The experience shook me up for weeks, I can tell you!"
"Arvanian hadn't done a long, monotonous drive. He'd covered exactly twenty-four miles."
"So what? He could have been drowsy after a hard day's work. Possibly he hadn't been sleeping well of late. A few spoiled nights can make a man muddle-minded and ready to bed down anywhere, even behind a wheel."
"You're right about that, Amy. As the father of two kids I've had a taste of it. Lack of sleep can pull a man down. It shows in the way he does his work." Bransome tapped the table by way of emphasis. "It didn't show in Arvanian's work."
"But-"
"Furthermore, he was supposed to be on his way home. The dockside was out of line from his direct route by three miles or more. He must have made a detour to get there. Why?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. It looks rather like suicide. Quite possibly it wasn't. Nobody knows what it was. I feel entitled to say there was something decidedly strange about it and that's as far as I go."
"You've got a prying mind," said Berg. "Why don't you set up in business as a private investigator?"
"More hazards and less security," responded Bransome, smiling. He glanced at his watch. "Time we returned to the treadmill."
* * *
Two months later Berg disappeared. During the ten days preceding his vanishing he had been quiet, thoughtful and uncommunicative. Bransome, who worked closest to him, noticed it and for the first few days put it down to a spell of moodiness. But as the other's attitude persisted and grew into something more like wary silence, he became curious.
"Sickening for something?"
"Eh?"
"I said are you sickening for something? You've become as broody as an old hen."