"Bova, Ben - Death on Venus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

that I could make out streamers among the clouds, slightly darker stretches,
patches where the amber yellowish clouds billowed up slightly.
I was falling in love with a world.
"IТm secured. LetТs get moving." DuchampТs terse order broke my hypnotic
staring.
Turning my entire body slightly I saw the seven other figures bobbing slightly
around the trolley, which was nothing more than a motorized framework of metal
struts that could crawl along the Buckyball cable.
I looked down the length of the cable toward Hesperos, which seemed to be
kilometers away. Which it was: three kilometers, to be exact. At that distance
the fat dirigible that was our spacecraft looked like a toy model or a
holographic image of the real thing. At its nose the broad cone of the heat
shield stood in place like a giant parasol, looking faintly ludicrous and
totally inadequate to protect the vessel from the burning heat of entry into
those thick yellow clouds.
"All right, by the numbers, check in," Duchamp commanded.
As the crew members called in I thought again of what a farce MargueriteТs
"official" title of mission scientist was. But I was glad she was with us. I
could talk to her. She didnТt lord it over me as her mother did; even Rodriguez
made it clear, without realizing he was doing it, that he regarded me as little
more than a rich kid playing at being a scientist.
"All right, then," Duchamp said. "Captain to Truax. We are ready for transfer."
"Copy you ready for transfer, Captain. Hesperos main airlock is cycled, outer
hatch open and waiting for your arrival."
"Activate trolley," she commanded.
"Activating."
I felt a very slight tug on my tether, and then all of us were moving toward the
distant Hesperos, accelerating now, sliding down the long Buckyball cable like a
small school of minnows flashing across a pond. Hesperos seemed to be coming up
at us awfully fast; I thought weТd crash into her, but I kept silent. Sometimes
youТd rather die than make an ass of yourself.
Sure enough, the trolley smoothly decelerated, slowly coming to a stop as the
seven of us swung on our tethers like a trained team of acrobats in a silent
ballet until we were facing down toward Hesperos. I marvelled that we went
through the maneuver without bumping one another, but Rodriguez later told me it
was simple Newtonian mechanics at work. My respects to Sir Isaac.
The trolley stopped about ten meters from the open airlock hatch, with us
hanging by our tethers with our boots a mere meter or so from HesperosТ hull. As
we had done in the virtual reality simulations, Duchamp unhooked her tether and
dropped to the hatch, her knees bending as her boots hit the hull soundlessly.
She stepped into the airlock, disappearing into its shadowed depth for a moment.
Then her bubble helmet and shoulders emerged from the hatch and she beckoned to
me.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Humphries," she said. "As owner, you should be the first to
board Hesperos. After me, of course."



Subscribe Now!Back to top