"Richard Wilson - The Eight Billion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Richard)

The vizier got the King away from the supervisors by crying: "We're
late! Gutzin! Gutzin for the Kingl"
What they were late for was the annual Mingle Day. The King obviously
was determined to go through with it on his way downtown.
Its full name was Mingle with the Masses Day. The law decreed that
once each year the King and Queen, accompanied by their first minister,
the vizier, must go forth among the multitude to see how unbearable
things had become and to listen to complaints.
The vizier dreaded every second of Mingle Day and in recent years had
tried to beg off on various pretexts, none of which the King had found
acceptable. The King rather enjoyed the custom; he slithered amiably
through the crush in his Silicoat, smiling, chatting, shaking hands, signing
autographs and generally having a royal time. The vizier did the work.
The Queen, who had joined the King after the meeting, was not so good
at slithering, due to her girth, but she was game. Her way was to fix a
smile on her face and maintain a steady pace, relying on the agility of her
subjects to avoid touching her royal person with their hands, as protocol
required. She also wore one of the plastic Silicoats which a clever
Japanese commuter had developed early in the history of overpopulation.
The Queen called it her slipcover.
The vizier had no such protection. His job was to stand still for the
populace and record their complaints. These came at him from all sides as
he aimed a button mike at the complainer's lips, cutting him off after 15
seconds, then moving on to the next. Thus the vizier constantly fell behind
and had to make wild dashes through virtually solid flesh to regain his
place behind Her Majesty.
It was unfortunate that the word that it was time to go downtown fell
on Mingle Day, but there had been no way of knowing exactly when the
breakthrough would take place. The secret project—boring into the
bedrock in search of a legendary vast cavern capable of being converted
into living space—had been pushed ahead with all possible speed and now
only the King's presence was needed to complete it.
But he must give no appearance of haste lest he prematurely reveal the
secret. One could not be sure the Mohole project would be a success, even
after the breakthrough.
Within minutes of the time the royal VTO had set the royal party down,
the normal crush had progressed from unbearable to next to impossible.
As always, the temper of the crowd changed as it flowed past the King,
who received affection, to the Queen, who was accorded respect, to the
vizier, who got the complaints.
Some of the complaints were more in the nature of suggestions and
used up less than the maximum 15 seconds, such as "Drop dead, Jack," or
"Go - - - -, you old - - - -."
The vizier rather welcomed these brief imperatives, which helped him
make up the time lost in recording the comments of those who took their
full quarter minute.
Another suggestion he had been hearing frequently in recent years was
"Invade Brooklyn; they got lots of room there."