"Blish, James - The Real Thrill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blish James)

THE REAL THRILL
by James Blish
(author of "Phoenix Planet," "Callistan Cabal," etc.)



ONE OF THE FEW abilities time had left Martin Burrowes was that of being bored,
and he was taking advantage of it to the fullest extent. The incessant, mindless
windjamming of the suspiciously blonde girl sounded on beside him and down the
cold darkness of the empty street, but he was learning to say "Yes," "You're
quite right, m'love,'' automatically and without interrupting his own stream of
thought.
Those thoughts were not particularly happy ones. At the age of 47 Burrowes was
hardly a middle-aged man. In these days normal life expectancy exceeded a
century, and the middle-age level had been moved up to the vicinity of
fifty-five. No, Burrowes had certainly not passed his prime.
But time and technology had betrayed him. Fifteen years ago Martin Burr owes had
known all there was to know about rocket engines, and had served as technical
adviser to the government, the IP, and a dozen private spaceship yards.
Then--the gravity impellor, geotrons, atomic power--and rocket technicians were
suddenly as useless in the scheme of things as blacksmiths. "Sorry, Mr.
Burrowes." "I'm afraid we have little use for rocket engineering these days,
sir." "We realize that a man of your ability--"
"We'll call you immediately if anything comes up--"
And now the lunar colonies had revolted; there was war, and industries of all
kinds were booming, and there was nothing for Martin Burrowes to do. Even the
night clubs and similar places of nonconstructive amusement were folding rapidly
in the serious intensity of the warfever. All the young men and the adaptable
older ones were in the IP or the yards, and the ships were in space, fighting or
patrolling. Left behind were the crocks which ran on rocket power, and the human
crocks who serviced rockets.
The blonde tugged insistently on his aim.
"Martin," she said. "Look. Let's go in there, huh?"
He followed her over-manicured finger to a large sign overlooking the dark
street.
STOP
Here and see the former
Interplanetary
POLICE CRUISER
C2-77
Now open to the public.
Admission 50cents
A Real Thrill
"That's right," he said, half to himself. "The old IP drydock was down here
once."
"Let's go in," she said. "Won't it be fun?"
There might be a melancholy pleasure in seeing the inside of one of the old
boats again. Abandoned cruiser, abandoned technician-- a fitting juxtaposition.
"Okay," he agreed, and she tugged him toward the sign.
IF THE FENCED-OFF area had ever been a dry-dock, it showed little sign of it