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

This is still a government ship, you know, and they won't be easy on snoopers."
"Please. Aw, come on, baby--"
"No," he snapped, irritated by the "baby." She let go of his arm.
"Well, I don't care, if you're goin' to be an old spoil-sport--" and she started
down a side corridor by herself.
"Hey," he growled, stepping after her. She giggled and ran.
"Come back here, you little witch!" he yelled, but by this time she had vanished
around a corner. He stopped, suddenly realizing how quickly he got out of breath
these days. Oh, well, let her go. If she got into trouble he'd let her worry her
own way out of it.
Returning, he nearly bumped into the officer, who was running back down the
core. "Oh," said the latter excitedly. "Oh, it's you. Listen, you and your
friend'll have to get off. GHQ called--attack on the north side of the
city--we're called in."
"What! You're going to take this tub into the air again?"
"Yeah, yeah--most of the fleet's in a fight over Tycho City--they're hard up for
ships, say this may be a decisive battle--where's my rummy engineer?" and he
started for the airlock. A light burst in Burrowes' brain, and he grabbed the
man's arm.
"Listen. It'll take you valuable time to find your engineer--he might be in any
one of fifty dives around this part of town. How about letting me take his
place?"
"You're battier'n an asteroid orbit."
"No, listen, I know a lot about rockets--I was an expert, remember. And I can
still manage the technical end."
The older man scratched his head. "Well, we've got a pick-up crew as it
is--okay. Come on. It may be sholt but it'll still be action."
In the tube room the men had apparently gotten the news by communicator from the
bridge, for there was a ferocious racket of old jets being tuned. Somebody was
pounding madly on a breech-valve with a hammer. Martin winced and pounded down
the stairs.
"Hey, you," he hollered over the din, grabbing the man. "Don't you know any
better'n that ?" He snatched a U-wrench and the offending valve opened with a
scream of protest. SHow far? 63? All right. If you snap those carbopoints inside
we'll blow higher than a kite."
"Who the hell are you?" the tubemarl growled.
"New engineer," the flight lieutenant's voice cut in. "Get 'em started, boys.
We're going to see some fighting." He ran back up the stairs. Martill had an
idea he had forgotten something, but in the excitement and sudden din he could
not remember what it was. He moved rapidly down the banks, correcting mistakes
in adjustment, checking, helping when a recalcitrant old tube refused to yield
to persuasion. This was his first experience with actual field-work; before he
had been a mere paperand-drydock man. It was a real thrill.
THE WARNING BELL rang, and he went back on the platform to watch the dials,
which duplicated those in the control room. There was even a telescreen whose
eyes opened on the forward viewplate, so that the engineer could follow the
maneuvering. These old boats had been pretty good in their time, at that. A tube
began to sputter and he plunged back down to adjust the mixture.
"Hey, bud, take it easy," the tubeman in charge of that section protested. "I
can watch it. You don't have to be the whole damn black gang."