"Bova, Ben - Moonwar [v1, rtf]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

'We can manufacture salt with nanomachines,' Doug said. 'Ought to be simple enough.'
'Where can you get the sodium and chlorine?' Anson retorted. 'Not out of the regolith.'
Doug smiled a little. 'Out of the reprocessors. Recycle the garbage.'
Anson made a sour face.
'Could we really get along for months without importing anything from Earth?' Joanna asked.
'Maybe a year,' Anson said. 'If you don't mind eating your soyburgers without mustard.'
Brudnoy flexed his gnarled fingers. 'Aren't you glad that I insisted on planting onions and garlic, along with my flowers?'
'Do you have any jalapeno peppers out at the farm?' Anson asked.
Brudnoy shook his head.
'A year,' Joanna mused. 'This ought to be settled long before that.'
'One way or another,' said Brudnoy morosely.
'Pharmaceuticals might be a problem,' Doug said, turning to the wall screen on his right. With the laser he changed the display from a camera view of the empty rocket launching pads to an inventory of the base's pharmaceutical supplies. 'We've been bringing them up on a monthly schedule. Got a . . .' he studied the display screen briefly, '. . . three-month supply on hand.'
'Maybe we can use nanomachines instead,' Joanna suggested. It was an open secret that her youthful appearance was due to nanotherapy that tightened sagging muscles and kept her skin tone smooth.
'I can talk to Cardenas about that,' Anson replied.
'And Professor Zimmerman,' Doug said.
'You talk to Zimmerman,' she snapped. 'He always tries to bully me.'
Brudnoy volunteered, I'll see Zimmerman.'
'You?'
With a guilty smile, the Russian said, 'He and I have been working on a little project together: using nanomachines to make beer.'
'Lev!' Joanna glared at her husband.
Brudnoy raised a placating hand. 'Don't worry. So far, we've accomplished less than nothing. The stuff is so bad not even Zimmerman will drink it.'
Doug chuckled at his stepfather's self-deprecating manner. Then he said, 'Okay. Our first move is to declare independence and-'
'How can we let anyone on Earth know we're applying for U.N. membership if all the communications links are cut off?' Joanna asked.
'We can talk to Earth,' Anson assured her. 'Radio, TV, even laser beams if we need 'em. We don't need the commsats; just. squirt our messages straight to the ground antennas.'
'The question is,' said Brudnoy, 'will anyone on Earth respond to us?'
'They will,' Doug said. 'Once they learn what we're doing. And there's always the news media.'
'Ugh!' said Joanna.
'Don't knock them,' Doug insisted. 'They might turn out to be our best ally in this.'
'Our only ally,' said Brudnoy.
'Okay, okay, so we declare independence,' Anson cut in. 'Then what?'
'If Faure refuses to recognize us we appeal to the World Court,' said Doug.
Joanna agreed. 'Tie him up legally and wait for world opinion to come over to our side.'
'Lots of luck,' Brudnoy mumbled.
'Do you think it'll work?' Anson wondered.
'It's got to,' said Joanna.
'Jinny,' said Doug, pointing a finger in her direction, 'I want you to take over as base director.'
'Me? Why? I haven't been behind that desk in almost eight years!'
Grinning at her, Doug said, 'You know more about what's going on in these tunnels than I do. Don't try to deny it.'
'But I've got the university to run,' she protested. 'And what're you going to be doing?'
'The university's going to be in hibernation as long as Earthside isn't allowed to communicate with us. Your students won't be able to talk to you.'
'But you . . . ?'
'I've been studying military history ever since Faure was elected secretary-general,' Doug said. 'One thing I've learned is that we're going to need somebody to give his undivided attention to this crisis. I can't be running the day-to-day operation of Moonbase and handle the war at the same time.'
'You said it's not a war,' Joanna said sharply.
'Not a shooting war,' Doug admitted. 'Not yet. But we've got to be prepared for that possibility.'
'You can't-'
'He's right,' Brudnoy said, interrupting his wife. 'Doug should devote his full attention to this situation.'
'And I'm gonna be base director again,' Anson said. She did not seem displeased with the idea.
'So you will be our generalissimo,' said Brudnoy, pointing at Doug. 'Jinny becomes base director once again. And you, dear wife,' he turned to face Joanna, 'must serve as our foreign secretary, in charge of diplomatic relations with Masterson and the other corporations.'
'And what will you be doing, Lev?' Joanna asked her husband.
'Me?' Brudnoy's shaggy brows climbed halfway to his scalp. 'I will remain as usual: nothing but a peasant.'