"Robert Sheckley. The Day The Aliens Came (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

his best suit and a pair of stout walking shoes, and boarded the Kazanga-
Metropole flyer.
At last he came to Earth, where dreams must come true, for there is a law
against their failure.
He passed quickly through Customs at Spaceport New York, and was shuttled
underground to Times Square. There he emerged blinking into daylight, tightly
clutching his handbag, for he had been warned about pickpockets, cutpurses and
other denizens of the city.
Breathless with wonder, he looked around.
The first thing that struck him was the endless array of theaters, with
attractions in two dimensions, three or four, depending upon your preference.
And what attractions!
To the right of him a beetling marquee proclaimed: LUST ON VENUS! A DOCUMENTARY
ACCOUNT OF SEX PRACTICES AMONG THE INHABITANTS OF THE GREEN HELL! SHOCKING!
REVEALING!
He wanted to go in. But across the street was a war film. The billboard shouted,
THE SUN BUSTERS! DEDICATED TO THE DAREDEVILS OF THE SPACE MARINES! And further
down was a picture called TARZAN BATTLES THE SATURNIAN GHOULS!
Tarzan, he recalled from his reading, was an ancient ethnic hero of Earth.
It was all wonderful, but there was so much more! He saw little open shops where
one could buy food of all worlds, and especially such native Terran dishes as
pizza, hotdogs, spaghetti and knishes. And there were stores which sold surplus
clothing from the Terran spacefleets, and other stores which sold nothing but
beverages.
Simon didn't know what to do first. Then he heard a staccato burst of gunfire
behind him, and whirled.
It was only a shooting gallery, a long, narrow, brightly painted place with a
waist-high counter. The manager, a swarthy fat man with a mole on his chin sat
on a high stool and smiled at Simon.
"Try your luck?"
Simon walked over and saw that, instead of the usual targets, there were four
scantily dressed women at the end of the gallery, seated upon bullet-scored
chairs. They had tiny bull-eyes painted on their foreheads and above each
breast.
"But do you fire real bullets?" Simon asked.
"Of course!" the manager said. "There is a law against false advertising on
Earth. Real bullets and real gals! Step up and knock one off!"
One of the women called out, "Come on, sport! Bet you miss me!"
Another screamed, "He couldn't hit the broad side of a spaceship!"
"Sure he can!" another shouted. "Come on, sport!"
Simon rubbed his forehead and tried not to act surprised. After all, this was
Earth, where anything was allowed as long as it was commercially feasible.
He asked, "Are there galleries where you shoot men, too?"
"Of course," the manager said. "But you ain't no pervert, are you?"
"Certainly not!"
"You an outworlder?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"The suit. Always tell by the suit." The fat man closed his eyes and chanted,
"Step up, step up and kill a woman! Get rid of a load of repressions! Squeeze
the trigger and feel the old anger ooze out of you! Better than a massage!