Конец вечности
Prelude to Crime
Hisvoicesaid,"Iexpectedyoutobeinyouroffice."
Harlansaid,"Ideliveredthereport,sir.Itdoesn’tmatterwhereIwaitforanewassignment."
"Yes?"Fingescannedtherolloffoilheheldinhishands,holdingitup,squint-eyed,andpeeringatitsperforationpattern.
"Itisscarcelycomplete,"hewenton."MayIvisityourrooms?"
Harlanhesitatedamoment.Themanwashissuperiorandtorefusetheself-invitationatthismomentwouldhaveaflavorofinsubordination.Itwouldadvertisehisguilt,itseemed,andhisraw,painfulconsciencedarednotpermitthat.
"Youwillbewelcome,Computer,"hesaidstiffly.
Finge’ssleeksoftnessintroducedajarringelementofepicureanismintoHarlan’sangularquarters.The95th,Harlan’shomewhen,tendedtowardtheSpartaninhousefurnishingsandHarlanhadnevercompletelylosthistasteforthestyle.Thetubularmetalchairshadbeensurfacedwithadullveneerthathadbeenartificiallygrainedintotheappearanceofwood(thoughnotverysuccessfully).Inonecorneroftheroomwasasmallpieceoffurniturethatrepresentedanevenwiderdeparturefromthecustomsofthetimes.
ItcaughtFinge’seyealmostatonce.
TheComputerputapudgyfingeronit,asthoughtotestitstexture."Whatisthismaterial?"
"Wood,sir,"saidHarlan.
"Therealthing?Actualwood?Amazing!Youusewoodinyourhomewhen,Ibelieve?"
"Wedo."
"Isee.
