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

Martin returned to his platform "Watch your mixtures!" he howled. Then he clung
to the railing as the commander flung the ship eagerly upward.
The shock of take-off knocked all the breath from him. He had not known what to
expect, for despite many years of lab training, he had never flown in a
rocket-powered ship any farther than thirty miles For a moment he sat stupidly
on the platform. Then from somewhere an insistent, wicked pounding came to his
ears, and he shook himself back to consciousness. The banks were glowing dull
red now with the over rapid firing after so many years of inaction, but he
couldn't see anything radically wrong. The pounding was coming from that
half-clogged number two tube. Well, if the lieutenant took it easy there'd be
little trouble there.
He ran his eye over the dials. The lieutenant was taking little account of
safety; but then, they would probably come to grief against the first Lunar ship
they met, anyhow. Maybe they would be too late as it was. In the screen he could
see the partly darkened city and a red flaring on the horizon. The clock grinned
at him and he was astonished to see how long they had been traveling. Four
minutes. It hadn't seemed like that many seconds. Things moved fast these days,
even time. He tried to calm his breathing, but about his rapid heart he could do
nothing. Why had he let himself get into such poor physical condition?
There was another jerk of acceleration and the pounding in number two became a
continuous rattle, like a machine gun. The engine-room was almost insufferably
hot, and the tube-men were stripped to the waist. The communicator buzzed and
Burrowes put on the phones.
"We're coming up on it from behind," said the lieutenant's voice. "There's a big
Ligget-type battleplane above it that seems to be directing the Lunies, and I
don't think they've seen us. Can we stand more speed ?"
Burrowes narrowed his eyes. "A little," he said into- the mike. "Feed it slow,
or they']l be picking scraps of us up in Florida."
The C2-77 bounced upward like a nudged frog and the number two began to howl.
The tube-men looked nervously at it and then up at Burrowes. They were ok enough
hands to recognize the signs and the need of expert advice.
And Burrowes knew suddenly that a paper-man couldn't give such advice properly.
If that tube backblasted now--
As if to spur him, the howling rose to a scream. He made a quick decision.
"Clear out," he ordered at the top of his voice. "I'll get it." If it did blow,
that way it would take only one man instead of five. He rattled down the stairs,
and the black gang, frightened now, headed for the bulkhead as fast as possible.
The screaming of the overloaded, defective tube was a terrifying thing. It
seemed to fill the whole universe. He took the U-wrench in a shaking hand, and
in a moment the note died away to a low, ominous mutter. He tried to get that
out, but an adjustment just a fraction further in the other direction brought
the howl in again. He hastily returned the valves to the final position. There
were several painful burns on his hands where he had inadvertently touched the
white-hot breech, and his heart was making more noise than the jet. Another
farther down the bank began to whisper, and when he ran to correct it the number
two lifted its voice a little higher.
THEN, SUDDENLY, the girl was behind him, screaming.
"Get me out of here," she yelled, her face hard. "Get me out, do you hear?"
He grinned mercilessly. "Too late, little explorer. We're in the air."
"I don't give a damn where we are. You got me into this and you can get me out."