The Crackpots

Начало книги

He was standing on a street corner, wearing a long orange nightgown and a red slumber-cap with a tassel. He was studiously picking his nose.

“Watch him!” cried Furth. “Watch what he does! Get the technique accurately!”

For this I studied four years to become an expert? thought Themus.

Furth looked at the younger man for the first time in several minutes. “Are you watching him?” The elder Watcher nudged his companion, causing Themus’s dictobox to bump unceremoniously against his chest.

“Yes, yes, I’m watching,” answered Themus, “but what possible reason could there be to watch a lunatic picking his nose on a public street corner?” Annoyance rang in his voice.

Furth swung on him, his eyes cold steel. “You watch them, that’s your job. And don’t ever forget that! And dictate it into that box strapped to your stupid shoulders. If I ever catch you failing to notice and dictate what they’re doing, I’ll have you shipped back to Central and then into the Mines. You understand what I’m saying?”

Читать дальше →