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

"It was one of the fruit," she said, gasping for breath and coughing. "I was heating it in a beaker,
turned away, and it blew. I guess it sort of stunned me. The next thing I knew, Marty was carrying me
out here. Hey, I have to get back in there! There's another one . . . it could be dangerous, and the
damage, I have to check on thatтАФ" She struggled to get up but Lang held her down.
"You take it easy. What's this about another one?"
"I had it clamped down, and the drill-did I turn it on, or not? I can't remember. I was after a core
sample. You'd better take a look. If the drill hits whatever made the other one explode, it might go off."
"I'll get it," McKillian said, turning toward the lab.
"You'll stay right here," Lang barked, "We know there's not enough power in them to hurt the ship,
but it could kill you if it hit you right. We stay right here until it goes off. The hell with the damage. And
shut that door, quick!"
Before they could shut it they heard a whistling, like a teakettle coming to boil, then a rapid series of
clangs. A tiny white ball came through the doorway and bounced off three walls. It moved almost faster
than they could follow. It hit Crawford on the arm, then fell to the floor where it gradually skittered to a
stop. The hissing died away, and Crawford picked it up. It was lighter than it had been. There was a
pinhole drilled in one side. The pinhole was cold when he touched it with his fingers. Startled, thinking he
was burned, he stuck his finger in his mouth, then sucked on it absently long after he knew the truth.
"These 'fruit' are full of compressed gas," he told them. "We have to open up another, carefully this
time. I'm almost afraid to say what gas I think it is, but I have a hunch that our problems are solved."
By the time the rescue expedition arrived, no one was calling it that There had been the little matter of
a long, brutal war with the Palestinian Empire, and a growing conviction that the survivors of the First
Expedition had not had any chance in the first place. There had been no time for luxuries like space travel
beyond the Moon and no billions of dollars to invest while the world's energy policies were being
debated in the Arabian Desert with tactical nuclear weapons.
When the ship finally did show up, it was no longer a NASA ship. It was sponsored by the fledgling
International Space Agency. Its crew came from all over Earth. Its drive was new, too, and a lot better
than the old one. As usual, war had given research a kick in the pants. Its mission was to take up the
Martian exploration where the first expedition had left off and, incidentally, to recover the remains of the
twenty Americans for return to Earth.
The ship came down with an impressive show of flame and billowing sand, three kilometers from
Tharsis Base.
The captain, an Indian named Singh, got his crew started on erecting the permanent buildings, then
climbed into a crawler with three officers for the trip to Tharsis. It was almost exactly twelve Earth-years
since the departure of the Edgar Rice Burroughs.
The Podkayne was barely visible behind a network of multicolored vines. The vines were tough
enough to frustrate their efforts to push through and enter the old ship. But both lock doors were open,
and sand had drifted in rippled waves through the opening. The stern of the ship was nearly buried.
Singh told his people to stop, and he stood back admiring the complexity of the life in such a barren
place. There were whirligigs twenty meters tall scattered around him, with vanes broad as the wings of a
cargo aircraft.
"Well have to get cutting tools from the ship," he told his crew. "They're probably in there. What a
place this is! I can see we're going to be busy." He walked along the edge of the dense growth, which
now covered several acres. He came to a section where the predominant color was purple. It was
strangely different from the rest of the garden. There were tall whirligig derricks but they were frozen,
unmoving. And covering all the derricks was a translucent network of ten-centimeter-wide strips of
plastic, which was thick enough to make an impenetrable barrier. It was like a cobweb made of flat, thin
material instead of fibrous spider-silk. It bulged outward between all the crossbraces of the whirligigs.
"Hello, can you hear me now?"
Singh jumped, then turned around, looked at the three officers. They were looking as surprised as he
was.