"Clarke, Arthur C - Odissey Two" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clarke Arthur C)

Max took two of the bags, glided gently through the triangle formed by three intersecting girders, and dived into a small hatchway, apparently defying Newton's First Law in the process. Floyd acquired a few extra bruises while following him; after a considerable time - Leonov seemed much bigger inside than out- they arrived at a door labelled CAPTAIN, in both Cyrillic and Roman. Although he could read Russian much better than he could speak it, Floyd appreciated the gesture; he had already noticed that all ship's notices were bilingual.

At Max's knock, a green light flashed on, and Floyd drifted inside as gracefully as he could. Though he had spoken to Captain Orlova many times, they had never before met. So he had two surprises.

It was impossible to judge a person's real size over the viewphone; the camera somehow converted everyone to the same scale. Captain Orlova, standing - as well as one could stand in zero gravity - barely reached to Floyd's shoulders. The viewphone had also completely failed to convey the penetrating quality of those dazzling blue eyes, much the most striking feature of a face that, at the moment, could not be fairly judged for beauty.

'Hello, Tanya,' said Floyd. 'How nice to meet at last. But what a pity about your hair.'

They grasped both hands, like old friends.

'And nice to have you aboard, Heywood!' answered the captain. Her English, unlike Brailovsky's, was quite fluent, though heavily accented. 'Yes, I was sorry to lose it - but hair's a nuisance on long missions, and I like to keep the local barbers away as long as possible. And my apologies about your cabin; as Max will have explained, we suddenly found we needed another ten cubic metres of storage space. Vasili and I won't be spending much time here for the next few hours - please feel free to use our quarters.'

'Thank you. What about Curnow and Chandra?'

'I've made similar arrangements with the crew. It may seem as if we're treating you like cargo -'

'Not wanted on voyage.'

'Pardon?'

'That's a label they used to put on the baggage, in the old days of ocean travel.'

Tanya smiled. 'It does look rather that way. But you'll be wanted all right, at the end of the trip. We're already planning your revival party.'

'That sounds too religious. Make it - no, resurrection would be even worse! - waking-up party. But I can see how busy you are - let me dump my things and continue my grand tour.'

'Max will show you around - take Dr Floyd to Vasili, will you? He's down in the drive unit.'

As they drifted out of the captain's quarters, Floyd gave mental good marks to the crew-selection committee. Tanya Orlova was impressive enough on paper; in the flesh she was almost intimidating, despite her charm. I wonder what she's like, Floyd asked himself, when she loses her temper. Would it be fire or ice? On the whole, I'd prefer not to find out.

Floyd was rapidly acquiring his space legs; by the time they reached Vasili Orlov, he was manoeuvring almost as confidently as his guide. The chief scientist greeted Floyd as warmly as his wife had.

'Welcome aboard, Heywood. How do you feel?'

'Fine, apart from slowly starving to death.'

For a moment Orlov looked puzzled; then his face split into a broad smile,

'Oh, I'd forgotten. Well, it won't be for long. In ten months' time, you can eat as much as you like.'

Hibernators went on a low-residue diet a week in advance; for the last twenty-four hours, they took nothing but liquid. Floyd was beginning to wonder how much of his increasing light-headedness was due to starvation, how much to Curnow's champagne, and how much to zero gravity.

To concentrate his mind, he scanned the multicoloured mass of plumbing that surrounded them.

'So this is the famous Sakharov Drive. It's the first time I've seen a full-scale unit.'

'It's only the fourth one ever built.'

'I hope it works.'