"Davies, Walter C - Interference" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davies Walter C)

INTERFERENCE
by Walter C. Davies
(Author of "Forgotten Tongues," "New Directions," etc.)



Alone in the emptiness of space, the two psychologists suffered the mental
static of whole planet, and no matter where they went the interference followed.



"TAKE IT EASY, now," warned the President of the United States. "A lot depends
on you--don't go off halfcocked. You only get one chance. That's all we can
afford."
Boyle took the extended hand and shook it heartily. "We'll certainly do our
best, sir," he said. And from the tone of his voice you could tell that he meant
it.
The vast field was crowded; beneath the hot summer sun sweated twenty thousand
people, surging, cheering, breaking through cordons of police lined up for their
own protection. Dips were doing a thriving business; more than one
light-fingered gentleman was planning to retire on the rich pickings from the
crowd. People were far too excited to consider whether or not it was their own
hands in their pockets or that of some total stranger of predatory instincts.
The crowd was in a holiday mood, exalted to be in the same rocket field with
Boyle and Cantrell.
The two objects of adoration were bearing up well under the strain, humble
psychologists though they had been up to a few weeks ago. After shaking the
President's hand and being clapped on their backs by enough distinguished
foreigners to fill an embassy the size of the great pyramid, they were blushing
a little and very happy at their good fortune.
"But," whispered Boyle from the corner of his mouth, "if we don't come back
they'll know we died trying." Suddenly grim, he surveyed the vast sea of faces
stretching before him. An emcee took him by the arm and led him to a mike
through which he would address the crowd.
"Hello--" he began, and then broke off, startled by the sound of his own voice
roaring out across the field. "Hello, all you people. My partner and I just want
to thank you before we leave in the Andros. If we don't return send out more
men, men better than Cantrell and I. Because we aren't coming back before we
crack the problem that's assigned to us. When--if--you see the jets of the old
Andros in the sky again, maybe in a week, maybe in a year, you'll know that the
answer is in our hands and that the plague, the spastitis, is over. Or as good
as over."
The roar that went up from the crowd was deafening as he modestly stepped back
from the mike. The emcee was yelling things into it, but the tremendous ovation
drowned out even the tornado of sound that the loudspeakers created.
Boyle waved at the crowd again. "All ready?" he snapped at Cantrell, his partner
in the enterprise. "Everything checked?"
"Betcha life," said Cantrell. "Get in." Like an insect disappearing in the
knothole of a giant tree trunk, Boyle eased through the tiny port in the grey,
slab-sided hull of the Andros. Cantrell vaulted in immediately after him, and