"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

the dome heaved over away from him, and the floor raised itself high in the air, held down by the
unbroken anchors on the side farthest from him. There was a gush of snow and dust; then the floor
settled slowly back to the ground. There was no motion now but the leisurely folding of the depressurized
dome roof as it settled over the structures inside.
The crawler skidded to a stop, nearly rolling over, beside the deflated dome. Two pressure-suited
figures got out. They started for the dome, hesitantly, in fits and starts. One grabbed the other's arm and
pointed to the lander. The two of them changed course and scrambled up the rope ladder hanging over
the side.
Crawford was the only one to look up when the lock started cycling. The two people almost tumbled
over each other coming out of the lock. They wanted to do something, and quickly, but didn't know
what. In the end, they just stood there silently twisting their hands and looking at the floor. One of them
took off her helmet. She was a large woman, in her thirties, with red hair shorn off close to the scalp.
"Matt, we got here as ..." She stopped, realizing how obvious it was. "How's Lou?"
"Lou's not going to make it." He gestured to the bunk where a heavyset man lay breathing raggedly
into a clear plastic mask. He was on pure oxygen. There was blood seeping from his ears and nose.
"Brain damage?"
Crawford nodded. He looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was the Surface
Mission Commander, Mary Lang, the black woman he had seen inside the dome just before the blowout
She was sitting on the edge of Lou Prager's cot, her head cradled in her hands. In a way, she was a more
shocking sight than Lou. No one who knew her would have thought she could be brought to this limp
state of apathy. She had not moved for the last hour.
Sitting on the floor huddled in a blanket was Martin Ralston, the chemist His shirt was bloody, and
there was dried blood all over his face and hands from the nosebleed he'd only recently gotten under
control, bat his eyes were alert He shivered, looking from Lang, his titular leader, to Crawford, the only
one who seemed calm enough to deal with anything. He was a follower, reliable but unimaginative.
Crawford looked back to the newest arrivals. They were Lucy Stone McKillian, the red-headed
ecologjst, and Song Sue Lee, the exo-biologist They still stood numbly by the airlock, unable as yet to
come to grips with the fact of fifteen dead men and women beneath the dome outside.
"What do they say on the Burroughs?" McKillian asked, tossing her helmet on the floor and squatting
tiredly against the wall. The lander was not the most comfortable place to hold a meeting; all the couches
were mounted horizontally since their purpose was cushioning the acceleration of landing and takeoff.
With the ship sitting on its tail, this made ninety per cent of the space in the lander useless. They were all
gathered on the circular bulkhead at the rear of the lifesystem, just forward of the fuel tank.
"We're waiting for a reply," Crawford said. "But I can sum op what they're going to say: not good.
Unless one of you two has some experience in Mars-lander handling that you've been concealing from
us."
Neither of them bothered to answer that. The radio hi the nose sputtered, then clanged for their
attention. Crawford looked over at Lang, who made no move to go answer it He stood up and swarmed
up the ladder to sit in the copilot's chair. He switched on the receiver.
"Commander Lang?"
"No, this is Crawford again. Commander Lang is . . . indisposed. She's busy with Lou, trying to do
something."
"That's no use. The doctor says it's a miracle he's still breathing. If he wakes up at all, he won't be
anything like you knew him. The telemetry shows nothing like the normal brain wave. Now I've got to
talk to Commander Lang. Have her come up." The voice of Mission Commander Weinstein was
accustomed to command, and about as emotional as a weather report
 "Sir, I'll ask her, but I don't think shell come. This is still her operation, you know." He didn't give
Weinstein time to reply to that Weinstein had been trapped by his own seniority into commanding the
Edgar Rice Burroughs, the orbital ship that got them to Mars and had been intended to get them back.
Command of the Podkayne, the disposable lander that would make the lion's share of the headlines, had