The Best of L. Sprague de Camp
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1978
- Язык: английский
- Год: Del Rey / Ballantine
- ISBN: 0-345-25474-0
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Best of L. Sprague de Camp». Краткое содержание книги:
"Do we have to fight our way through those?" said Dorothea Dunkelberg. "They scare me."
"Claire will handle 'em," said Ross with more conviction than he felt. "She says they're friendly but dumb."
The sun glinted on red hair as a figure in a playsuit appeared beside the mansion. Claire La Motte's voice came shrilly:
"Ilya! Olga! Come here! Here, Dmitri! Behave yourself, Anastasia!" The dogs loped off toward the house, where the girl seized a couple by their collars and dragged them out of sight around the corner. The others followed. Presently, Claire appeared again and waved an arm toward the parking space. Ross parked and got out.
As Claire La Motte approached the car, Ovid Ross reached into his pocket and pressed his switch button, once. Now, he hoped,, he would show up all right in comparison with his slick friend Falck!
He felt Jerome Bundy take over his body and stride it toward the approaching Claire. Behind him he heard a faint wolf whistle from Falck. Instead of formally shaking hands with her and mumbling something banal while his ears pinkened and his knuckles seemed to swell to the size of baseballs, Ross heard his body bellow:
"Hi there, beautiful!"
Then it clamped its hands around Claire's small waist and hoisted her to arm's length overhead. He let her slip back into his arms, briefly hugged the breath out of her, and dropped her to the ground. As he did so he thought he caught a smothered murmur:
"Why, Ovid!"
At least, thought Ross, he was glad that Bundy hadn't made him kiss her or spank her behind. It was all very well for his controller to take an attitude of hearty familiarity, but that sort of thing could easily be carried too far. Popular mythology to the contrary notwithstanding, many girls really disliked caveman tactics.
Ross's body then affably introduced Claire La Motte to his new friends. Claire said:
"I thought we'd take a walk around the grounds and then eat a picnic lunch on the edge of the pool. Then later we can take a swim."
"Oh," said Bundy-Ross. "Gil, grab the suits and towels."
Falck brought these objects out of the rear seat of the car and walked after the others.
"Over that way," said Claire, pointing over the trees, "is the Untereiner estate. The Wyckman estate used to be beyond it, but now they're putting up apartment houses on it."
There were the conventional murmurs about the never-ending growth of New York's commutershed, both in size and in population. Claire continued:
"And over that way is the MacFadden estate, only the Mutual Fidelity bought it as a club for their employees. And in that direction is the Heliac Health Club."
"What's that?" said Dorothea Dunkelberg. "A nudist camp."
"Oh. I thought they weren't allowed in this state?"
"They aren't, but it's become so popular the law's not enforced anymore. On the other hand, it can't be repealed because the legislators are afraid the religious groups would raise a fuss."
They started toward the pool when another outbreak of barking halted them. Claire wailed:
"Oh, goodness, they got out again! Dmitri has learned to work the latch with his paw!"
The borzois boiled around the corner of the mansion as if pursuing the biggest wolf in Siberia. One made a playful fifteen-foot spring with its forepaws against Gilbert Falck, sending the telagog controller rolling on the greensward. Towels and bathing suits flew about, to be snatched up by the dogs and borne off fluttering. Claire screamed:
"Yelena! Igor! Behave yourselves!"
No attention did they pay. A couple raced off having a running tug-of-war with Dorothea Dunkelberg's suit, while another amused itself by throwing one of the bath towels into the air and catching it again.
"Playful little fellows," said Falck, getting up and brushing the grass off his pants.
"Very," said Claire, and started to apologize until Falck stopped her.
"Not your fault, lassie. Don't give it a thought." Falck wiped a drop of sweat from his nose. "I'm going to miss those suits, rather. If you find them in the woods, not too badly tattered, you might send 'em back to us."
"Sticky, isn't it?" said Claire. "Anyway we still have the lunch."
"What's to keep these Hounds of the Baskervilles from raiding our food?" asked Ross's body.
"I don't know, until I can get them shut up again and tie the gate closed."
Dorothea said in her faint squeak: "Maybe we could sit in a row on the springboard. They'd be scared to come out over the water, wouldn't they?"
And so it was done. The smell of food attracted the dogs, who lined up on the edge of the pool and whined until Claire, with the men's help, collared them two at a time and led them back to their kennels.
Gilbert Falck wiped his hands on his paper napkin and said: "Excuse me, people. I just remembered a phone call. May I use the Peshkov phone, Claire?"
He followed Claire into the Peshkovs' palatial living room, where a life-sized portrait of Stalin hung on the wall. As she was pointing out the telephone, Falck casually captured her hand and said:
"I say, Claire, that sofa looks rather comfortable. Why don't we sit down and get better acquainted?"
Claire slipped her hand out of his and said: "You make your call, Gil. I have my other guests to entertain."
Falck sighed and called the Telagog Company. He got Jerome Bundy on the line and said:
"Jerry, your control is laying an egg again. He does all right while you control him, but the minute you let go he just sits staring at the dame with an expression like a hungry wolf."
"Well?"
"I rather thought the next time you take over you'd better give him a more aggressive and uninhibited pattern. The poor jerk will never get anywhere under his own steam."
"I don't know," said Bundy dubiously. "I .thought I was giving him an aggressive pattern. I don't want to queer his pitch by—"
"Don't worry about that. His girl just confided to me she wishes he weren't such a stick. Give him the works."
"Okay," said Bundy.
Falck walked out with a knowing grin. When he came in sight of the other three he called:
"Did somebody say something about tennis?"
Ovid Ross immediately switched his control back to Bundy. He had no illusions about his game: a powerful serve and a bulletlike forehand drive, but no control to speak of.
They made it mixed doubles, Ross and Claire against the other two. To his amazement, Ross found his smashes going, not into the net or the wire as usual, but into the corners of the other court where nobody could touch them. Claire was pretty good, Dorothea rather poor, but Gilbert Falck excellent, with a catlike agility that more than made up for his lack of Ross's power. The first set got up to 5-5 then 6-5, then 6-6, then 7-6 ...
Dorothea Dunkelberg wailed: "I can't anymore Gil. I'll pass out in this heat."
"Okay," said Falck smoothly. "No law says we have to. Boy, I rather wish we had those bathing suits. Claire, the Commies wouldn't have some spares, would they?"
"I don't think so; they never keep old clothes. They say in Russia nothing was too good for them and they expect to have it that way here."
They trailed down the little hill from the tennis court and stood looking longingly at the clear, pale-green water in the pool. Ross was aware that Bundy was wiping his forehead for him. Thoughtful of him ... But then Ross was horrified to hear his controller say in that masterful way:
"Who wants bathing suits? Come on, boys and girls, take your clothes off and jump in!"
"What?" squealed Dorothea.
"You heard me. Off with 'em!"
"Well, I have a suit—" began Claire, but Bundy-Ross roared:
"No you don't! Not if the rest of us—"