Conklin, Groff (ed.) - 17 X Infinity / Конклин, Грофф (ред.) - Бесконечность помноженная на 17 [1963, EPUB, ENG]

The Simian Problem by Hollis Alpert Strikebreaker / Штрейкбрехер by Isaac Asimov Come Into My Cellar (= Boys! Raise Giant Mushrooms in Your Cellar!) / Ребятки! Выращивайте гигантские грибы у себя в подвалах! by Ray Bradbury MS Fnd in a Lbry / ЗПС НЙД В ББЛТК by Hal Draper Cato the Martian by Howard Fast The Spaceman Cometh by Henry Gregor Felsen The Machine Stops / Машина останавливается by E. M. Forster Frances Harkins by Richard Goggin The Day They Got Boston by Herbert Gold A-W-F, Unlimited / Полная Боевая Готовность by Frank Herbert As Easy As A.B.C. / "В. К. С." by Rudyard Kipling MacDonough's Song / Песня Макдоны by Rudyard Kipling Silenzia by Alan Nelson What to Do Until the Analyst Comes (= Everybody's Happy But Me!) by Frederik Pohl Short in the Chest by Margaret St. Clair (as by Idris Seabright) The Last of the Spode by Evelyn E. Smith Never Underestimate by Theodore Sturgeon Brooklyn Project / Бруклинский проект by William Tenn

Hugh Fortnum woke to Saturday’s commotions, and lay eyes shut, savoring each in its turn. Below, bacon in a skillet; Cynthia waking him with fine cooking instead of cries. Across the hall, Tom actually taking a shower. Far off in the bumble-bee dragon-fly light, whose voice was already damning the weather, the time, and the tides? Mrs. Goodbody? Yes. That Christian giantess, six-feet-tall with her shoes off, the gardener extraordinary, the octogenarian-dietitian and town philosopher. He rose, unhooked the screen and leaned out to hear her cry: “There! Take that! This’ll fix you! Hah!” “Happy Saturday, Mrs. Goodbody!” The old woman froze in clouds of bug-spray pumped from an immense gun. “Nonsense!” she shouted. “With these fiends and pests to watch for?” “What kind this time?” called Fortnum. “I don’t want to shout it to the jaybirds, but—” she glanced suspiciously around—“what would you say if I told you I was the first line of defense concerning Flying Saucers?” “Fine,” replied Fortnum. “There’ll be rockets between the worlds any year now.” “There already are!” She pumped, aiming the spray under the hedge. “There! Take that!” . . .