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

the mock-ups they made Earthside didn't survive the re-entry. It was the best we could do. I couldn't risk
the entire mission on a configuration the people back on Earth wouldn't certify."
"I know. I'll call you back tomorrow." She switched the set off and sat back on her heels. "I swear, if
the Earthside tests on a roll of toilet paper didn't ... he wouldn't. . ." She cut the air with her hands. "What
am I saying? That's petty. I don't like him, but heтАЩs right" She stood up, puffing out her cheeks as she
exhaled a pent-up breath.
"Come on, crew, we've got a lot of work."
They named their colony New Amsterdam, because of the windmills. The name of whirligig was the
one that stuck on the Martian plants, though Crawford held out for a long time in favor of spinnakers.
They worked all day and tried their best to ignore the Burroughs overhead. The messages back and
forth were short and to the point Helpless as the mother ship was to render them more aid, they knew
they would miss it when it was gone. So the day of departure was a stiff, determinedly nonchalant affair.
They all made a big show of going to bed hours before the scheduled breakaway.
When he was sure the others were asleep, Crawford opened his eyes and looked around the
darkened barracks. It wasn't much in the way of a home; they were crowded against each other on
rough pads made of insulating material. The toilet facilities were behind a flimsy barrier against one wall,
and smelled. But none of them would have wanted to sleep outside in the dome, even if Lang had
allowed it.
The only light came from the illuminated dials that the guard was supposed to watch all night There
was no one sitting in front of them. Crawford assumed the guard had gone to sleep. He would have been
upset, but there was no time. He had to suit up, and he welcomed the chance to sneak out He began to
furtively don his pressure suit.
As a historian, he felt he could not let such a moment slip by unobserved. Silly, but there it was. He
had to be out there, watch it with his own eyes. It didn't matter if he never lived to tell about it, he must
record it.
Someone sat up beside him. He froze, but it was too late. She rubbed her eyes and peered into the
darkness.
"Matt?" she yawned. "What's. . . what is it? Is something-"
"Shh. I'm going out. Go back to sleep. Song?"
"Um hmmm." She stretched, dug her knuckles fiercely into her eyes, and smoothed her hair back
from her face. She was dressed in a loose-fitting bottoms of a ship suit, a gray piece of dirty cloth that
badly needed washing, as did all their clothes. For a moment, as he watched her shadow stretch and
stand up, be wasn't interested in the Burroughs. He forced his mind away from her.
"I'm going with you," she whispered.
"All right. Don't wake the others."
Standing just outside the airlock was Mary Lang. She turned as they came out, and did not seem
surprised.
"Were you the one on duty?" Crawford asked her.
"Yeah. I broke my own rule. But so did you two. Consider yourselves on report." She laughed and
beckoned them over to her. They linked arms and stood staring up at the sky.
"How much longer?" Song asked, after some time had passed.
"Just a few minutes. Hold tight." Crawford looked over to Lang and thought he saw tears, but he
couldn't be sure in the dark.
There was a tiny new star, brighter than all the rest, brighter than Phobos. It hurt to took at it but
none of them looked away. It was the fusion drive of the Edgar Rice Burroughs, heading sunward, away
from the long winter on Mars. It stayed on for long minutes, then sputtered and was lost. Though it was
warm in the dome, Crawford was shivering. It was ten minutes before any of them felt like facing the
barracks.
They crowded into the airlock, carefully not looking at each other's faces as they waited for the
automatic machinery. The inner door opened and Lang pushed forwardтАФand right back into the airlock.