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of one sort or another.... He smothered the impulse. He was here on business.
"Your name, please?" Her voice was soft, with a fine grain to it, like
precious wood, and pitched in a strange key.
"Roland Mario."
She wrote on a form. "Age?"
'Twenty-nine."
"Occupation?"
"Architect."
"What do you want here?"
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"This is the Chateau d'lf?"
"Yes." She waited, expectantly.
"I'm a customer."
"Who sent you?"
"No one. I'm a friend of Pete Zaer's. He was here a couple of weeks ago."
She nodded, wrote.
"He seems to have done pretty well for himself," observed Mario cheerfully.
She said nothing until she had finished writing. Then: "This is a business,
operated for profit.
We are interested in money. How much do you have to spend?"
"I'd like to know what you have to sell."
"Adventure." She said the word without accent or emphasis.
"Ah," said Mario. "I see. . . . Out of curiosity, how does working here affect
you? Do you find it an adventure, or are you bored too?"
She shot him a quick glance. "We offer two classes of service. The first we
value at ten million dollars. It is cheap at that price, but it is the dullest
and least stirring of the two-the situation over which you have some control.
The second we value at ten thousand dollars, and this produces the most
extreme emotions with the minimum of immediate control on your part."
Mario considered the word "immediate." He asked, "Have you been through the
treatment?"
Again the cool flick of a glance. "Would you care to indicate how much you
wish to spend?" "I
asked you a question," said Mario.
"You will receive further information inside."
"Are you human?" asked Mario. "Do you breathe?"
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"Would you care to indicate how much you have to spend?"
Mario shrugged. "I have eight thousand dollars with me." He pursed his lips.
"And I'll give you a thousand to stick your tongue out at me."
She dropped the form into a slot, arose. "Follow me, please."
She led him through the door, along a hall, into a small room, bare and stark,
lit by a single cone-shaped floor lamp turned against the ceiling, a room
painted white, gray, green. A man sat at a desk punching a calculator. Behind
him stood a filing cabinet. There was a faint odor in the air, like mingled
mint, gardenias, with a hint of an antiseptic, medicinal scent
The man looked up, rose to his feet, bowed his head politely. He was young,
blond as beach-sand, as magnificently handsome as the girl was beautiful.
Mario felt a slight edge form in his brain.
One at a time they were admirable, their beauty seemed natural. Together, the
beauty cloyed, as if it were something owned and valued highly. It seemed
self-conscious and vulgar. And Mario suddenly felt a quiet pride in his own
commonplace person.
The man was taller than Mario by several inches. His chest was smooth and wide
corded with powerful sinew. In spite of almost over-careful courtesy, he gave
an impression of overpowering, overriding confidence.
"Mr. Roland Mario," said the girl. She added drily, "He's got eight thousand
dollars."
The young man nodded gravely, reached out his hand. "My name is Mervyn Alien."
He looked at the girl. "Is that all, Thane?"
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"That's all for tonight." She left
"Can't keep going on eight thousand a night," grumbled Mervyn Alien. "Sit
down, Mr. Mario."
Mario took a seat. "The adventure business must have tremendous expenses," he
observed with a tight grin.
"Oh, no," said Alien with wide candid eyes. "To the contrary. The operators
have a tremendous avarice. We try to average twenty million a day profit.
Occasionally we can't make it."
"Pardon me for annoying you with carfare," said Mario. "If you don't want it,
I'll keep it."
Alien made a magnanimous gesture. "As you please."
Mario said, "The receptionist told me that ten million buys the dullest of
your services, and ten thousand something fairly wild. What do I get for
nothing? Vivisection?"
Alien smiled. "No. You're entirely safe with us. That is to say, you suffer no
physical pain, you emerge alive."
"But you won't give me any particulars? After all, I have a fastidious nature.
What you'd consider a good joke might annoy me very much."
Mervyn Alien shrugged blandly. "You haven't spent any money yet. You can still
leave."
Mario rubbed the arms of his chair with the palms of his hand. "That's rather
unfair. I'm interested, but also I'd like to know something of what I'm
getting into."
Alien nodded. "Understandable. You're willing to take a chance, but you're not
a complete fool. Is that it?"
"Exactly."
Alien straightened a pencil on his desk. "First, I'd like to give you a short
psychiatric and medical examination. You understand," and he flashed Mario a
bright candid glance, "we don't want any accidents at the Chateau d'lf."
"Go ahead," said Mario.
Alien slid open the top of his desk, handed Mario a cap of crinkling plastic
in which tiny wires glittered. "Encephalo-graph pick-up. Please fit it
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snugly."
Mario grinned. "Call it a lie-detector."
Alien smiled briefly. "A lie-detector, then."
Mario muttered, "I'd like to put it on you." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]