"Lester Del Rey - Idealist UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Del Rey Lester)

For a final time, his mind reeled and tried to run back to its childhood. But he held it firm, and walked past the corpse. That was the past. And from now on men would have to live for the future.
He came to the control room with Ms muscles knotted in his sudden need to hear human voices. The station had circled
the Earth and a little more. They were over America now, and it would be no foreign tongue. He wiped the sweat from his hands, and picked up the microphone.
"Calling Earth. Calling Earth. This is Space Station, calling Earth. I'm green at this, so keep answering until I can find you. Space Station calling Earth." His own voice was hoarse in his throat.
But in a few seconds he located the signal that was coming back at him. ". . . wondered. Damn it, some of those bombs went wild! We lost ninety-five percent, and things are pretty bad down here. But we got most of the other bastards before they could take us. Better land near me-I'll tell you where. Some places they blame you guys for starting it all. And before you leave, if you've got a bomb left on your racks, give them hell over there, Space Station. Give them the ..."
Fenton spun the dial, and got a series of screams in his ears. Out of the hysteric nonsense, he gathered that the operator was suggesting that he bring down every culture in the biological experimental laboratory, before the enemies they feared could strike. "Only one bug! You've got a lot of un-classifieds," the voice was urging frantically. "Bring the whole lot, and we'll find any that we can use. We've got to strike first! We need ..."
Fenton's fingers fumbled on the dials of the radio, and he swayed over the desk. But there was no escape. Another turn of the tuning dial brought it into place with a click that locked it. It could only be the official frequency.
". . . Temporary HQ to Space Station. Come in." It was a flat, hard voice-the voice of a man who has been on duty for days without relief. "Come in."
"I'm getting you, HQ," Fenton acknowledged, and some of the life came back into him at the realization that there was an organization still functioning down there.
The voice answered almost at once. "Good. We've been signaling you for days. Thought you were all taken out by that damned enemy missile that got through. Can you still control ... no, cancel that. I've just got an order for you. By our figures, you have nineteen bombs left, unless one or two missed our spotters. Here are your targets-and for God's sake, don't slip up the way you did before! First one goes to-get these, because I won't repeat-first to ..."
Fenton cut off the radio and stood up slowly. He walked
out of the corpse-littered control room, past the bodies of those shot by Olin's bullets, and past the corpse of Olin himself. He moved through the area where the explosion had snuffed out the lives of others. The dead no longer bothered him. They were nothing compared to what must exist on Earth.
He picked his way, surely out of already-acquired habit, until he found a space-suit and mounted up through the hatch to the outer section. The bombs still stood there, and there were twenty instead of nineteen. Beside them lay the bodies of men who had come up here to lead mankind to the stars, and who had died because of hatreds that should never have left Earth.
There were no longer nations down there-only enemies. They had learned nothing, and they had biological warfare left to complete what they had been unable to do with their bombs.
He found Jhe body of a gentle old scientist he had known
Хa man who had been trying to find a cure out here for cancer, and had been near success. He touched his fingers to the clot of blood beside the corpse, and then to one of the bombs. One by one, he christened all twenty. And one by one, he pulled back the firing levers, watching them take off for Earth. Somewhere down there, they would land. It didnt matter where. Men had sent their messengers of death out into space. Now they were going home. And if they helped to send men further back toward savagery, it didn't matter-with enough time, they might return. They might even unite now, believing that the Station had started the war, and bonding nation to nation to get up here faster to
Хcek vengeance.
Paul Fenton didn't give a damn.
He went down to the infirmary to do what he had to do for what was left of Martha Graves. For a moment, he
Хtood over her with a needle, and then shrugged, and picked fcer up. Maybe she wasn't human any more, but who was? And she could still get pleasure, if only from the taste of food and the comfort of sleep.
Outside, the little space-ship was waiting, and it could carry them far enough, and land. With the plants and provisions, they could go on living in it as long as he chose, probably.
No man had ever seen the other side of the Earth's satellite. That had to be corrected. No race should go on forever without leaving some monument to show that it has gone beyond its own narrow world, even if it could send only a single ship one way. The men who had dreamed and built the Station deserved that much, at least.
Paul Fenton paused inside the space-ship while the locks sealed shut, and he spat slowly at the floor under his feet.
"Idealist!" he swore at himself bitterly.
But his eyes were rising to stare at the Moon as he hit the controls and blasted off. The Earth began dropping further behind. He did not look back.