"Donald Westlake - SH4 - The World's A Stage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westlake Donald E)


“Where we landed was nothing but an outdoor---”

“Rehearsal hall,” said Billy.

“They figured,” Ensign Benson said, “we were just actors, rehearsing a---”

“Space opera,” said Billy.

“Shut up, Billy” said Ensign Benson.

Meanwhile, up front, the girl was pleading her case to her companion. “They’re just trying to attract
attention,” she said. “Come on, Harv, you and I aren’t above stunts like that ourselves to get a part.
They’re just between gigs, that’s all.”

“Then let ‘em go to Temp, like the rest of us.”

“Come on, Harv, don’t be a producer.”

By then they were in the middle of the most utilitarian town the Earthpeople had ever seen. The buildings
were drabbly functional and lacking in ornamentation, with none more than two stories high. Other
stripped-down land travelers moved back and forth, and the several pedestrians, male and female, were
mostly dressed in plain, drab jump suits. The few people in costume-a cowboy, a striped-pants diplomat,
a belly dancer-stood out like parakeets in a field of crows.

The land traveler stopped. Reluctantly, the driver said, “All right, get out. I won’t report you.”

“Gee thanks!” said Billy, bounding over the rail.

The others followed, and Ensign Benson said, “Where’s the agency?”

“Don’t milk the joke, fella,” the driver said and accelerated away. But his girlfriend, behind his back,
pointed and gestured toward a nearby gray-metal building, then waved a good-luck good bye.

“She was nice,” Billy said.

“I’ve never dealt with agents before,” Luthguster said, frowning at the building.

“Only principals.”

Ensign Benson stared at him. “You only deal in principles? Come along, councilman; this I have to see.”



J. Railsford Farnsworth Successors-Talent Agency read the inscription on the frosted fiber of the door.
The Earthians filed into a small, bench-lined room personed by a feisty receptionist. “Well, look at what
the omkali dragged in,” she said, surveying the bedraggled Terrans.
Hester glared at the girl. ‘Get smart with me, snip,” she said, “and I’ll breath on you.”

“Harridan,” commented the receptionist calmly, flipping through a card file on her desk. “Battle-ax.”