"Jack Williamson - The Humanoids" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

broom, that slender youth never seemed too busy to drink coffee in the cafeteria and elaborate
his idle paradoxes to anybody with time enough to listen, but that mountain of undone work
somehow melted away. All the preliminary problems were solved. When the Crater Supernova
blazed out at last, a star of incredible promise, Forester was ready.
He and Ruth were newly married, then. He grinned wearily at her picture now, thinking how
shaken he had been to find unplanned passion upsetting the neat scheme of his career, almost
astonished at the remembered pain of his jealousy and desire, and his sick fear that she would
choose Ironsmith.
He wondered, now that he thought of it, why she hadn't. She had stayed at first just to teach
Ironsmith to run the section, and the two had gone about together all that winter while the new
telescope claimed his own nights. They were nearly the same age; Ironsmith was probably
good enough looking and certainly sufficiently brilliant, and Forester felt sure he had loved her.
Perhaps the answer was Ironsmith's indolence, his want of push and drive. He hadn't been
making enough to support her, nor had he ever even asked for a raise. She must have seen that
he would never achieve anything, despite the easy glitter of his talk. Anyhow, from whatever
mixture of love and respect and common prudence, she had chosen Forester, fifteen years the
older and already eminent. And Ironsmith, to his relief, hadn't seemed upset about it. That was
one thing he almost liked about the easygoing youth; Ironsmith never seemed to worry over
anything.
Forester had forgotten the telephone, in his wistful introspections, and now the sudden burr
of it startled him unpleasantly. That uneasy expectation of disaster at the project came back to
shake his thin hand as he picked up the receiver.
"Chief?" The troubled voice was Armstrong's, just as he had feared. "Sorry to bother you,
but something has come up that Mr. Ironsmith says you ought to know."
"Well?" He gulped uneasily. "What is it?"
"Were you expecting any message by special courier?" That competent technician seemed
oddly hesitant. "From anybody named White?"
"No." He could breathe again. "Why?"
"Mr. Ironsmith just called about a child asking for you at the main gate. The guard didn't let
her in, because she had no proper identification, but Mr. Ironsmith talked to her. She claimed
to have a confidential message from some Mr. White."
 "I don't know any Mr. White." For a moment he was merely grateful that this had been no
Red Alert against space raiders from the Triplanet Powers, and then he asked, "Where's this
child?"
"Nobody knows." Armstrong seemed annoyed. "That's the funny part. When the guard
didn't let her in, she somehow disappeared. That's what Mr. Ironsmith says you ought to
know."
"I don't see why." It hadn't been a Red Alert, and that was all that mattered. "Probably she
just went somewhere else."
"Okay, Chief." Armstrong appeared relieved at his unconcern. "I didn't want to bother you
about it, but Ironsmith thought you ought to know."
And they hung up.
 THREE



and stretched, feeling better. The ringing of the telephone was certainly
FORESTER YAWNED
no proof of any psychic intuition, because it was always ringing, every time he tried to snatch
any rest. An unknown child asking for him at the gate was nothing to become alarmed about,