"Philip Jose Farmer - Tongues of the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

"How many people do you have at Clavius?"
Broward hesitated, then said, "Four. All absolutely dependable. Under my orders. And you?"
"More than you," said Scone. "You understand that I'm not sharing the command with you? We can't take
time out to confer. We need a man who can give orders to be carried out instantly. And my word will be life or death?
No argument?"
"No time now for discussions of policy. I can see that. Yes.
I place myself and my people under your orders. But what about the other Americans? Some are fanatical
Marxists. Some are unknown, X."
"We'll weed out the bad ones," said Scone. "I don't mean by bad the genuine Marxists. I'm one myself. I mean
the non-Nationalists. If anyone wants to go to the Russians, we let them go. Or if anybody fights us, they die."
"Couldn't we just continue to keep them prisoners?"
"On the Moon? Where every mouth needs two pairs of hands to keep breathing and eating? Where even one
parasite may mean eventual death for all others? No!" Broward said, "All right They die. I hope..."
"Hopes are something to be tested," said Scone. "Let's get to work. There should be plenty of components
here with which to rig up a control for the bomb. And I have the bomb taped to my belly."
You won't have to untape your bomb," said Broward. "The transmitters are mined. So are the generators."
"How did you do it? And why didn't you tell me you'd already done it?"
"The Russians have succeeded in making us Americans distrust each other," said Broward. "Like everybody
else, I don't reveal information until I absolutely have to. As to your first question, I'm not only a doctor, I'm also a
physical anthropologist engaged in a Moonwide project I frequently attend conferences at this base, stay here several
sleeps. And what you did so permanently with your gun, I did temporarily with a sleep-inducing aerosol. But, now that
we understand each other, let's get out."
"Not until I see the bombs you say you've planted. Broward smiled. Then, working swiftly with a screwdriver
he took from a drawer, he removed several wall-panels. Scone looked into the recesses and examined the component
boards, functional blocks, and wires which jammed the interior.
"I don't see any explosives," Scone said. "Good," said Broward. "Neither will the Russians, unless they
measure the closeness of the walls to the equipment The explosive is spread out over the walls in a thin layer which is
colored to match the original green. Also, thin strips of chemical are glued to the walls. This chemical is
temperature-sensitive. When the transmitters are operating and reach maximum radiation of heat, the strips melt. And
the chemicals released interact with the explosive, detonate it."
"Ingenious," said Scone somewhat sourly. "We don't..." and he stopped.
"Have such stuff? No wonder. As far as I know, the detonator and explosive were made here on the Moon. In
our lab at Clavius."
"If you could get into this room without being detected and could also smuggle all that stuff from Clavius,
then the Russ can be beaten," said Scone.
Now, Broward was surprised. "You doubted they could?"
"Never. But all the odds were on their side. And you know what a conditioning they give us from the day we
enter kindergarten."
"Yes. The picture of the all-knowing, all-powerful Russian backed by the force of destiny itself, the inevitable
rolling forward and unfolding of History as expounded by the great prophet, the only prophet Marx. But it's not true.
They're human."
 They replaced the panels and the screwdriver and left the room. Just as they entered the hall, and the door
swung shut behind them, they heard the thumps of boots and shouts. Scone had just straightened up from putting the
key back into the dead officer's pocket when six Russians trotted around the corner. Their officer was carrying a burp
gun, the others, automatic rifles.
"Don't shoot!" yelled Scone in Russian. "Americans! USAF!"
The captain, whom both Americans had seen several times before, lowered her burper.
"It's fortunate that I recognized you," she said. "We just killed three Axes who were dressed in Russian
uniforms. They shot four of my men before we cut them down. I wasn't about to take a chance you might not be in
disguise, too."