"Forward, Robert L - Rocheworld 01 - Rocheworld (The Flight of the Dragonfly) 5.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forward Robert L)

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you realize you're too old to return from this mission. I hope you recognize, however, that after this latest assignment, that you can't transfer to a command position that rates a general's rank."
He paused to savor his next words.
"You may have used your influence to bribe your way onto this mission and into a promotion, Colonel Gudunov..." he paused on the word "Colonel", letting it sneer out of the side of his mouth like it was the name of a particularly loathsome disease, "...but you'll _never_ get your star!"
George rose, saluted, and turned to walk back across the carpet. The glitter of hate flared back in General Winthrop's eyes as he stared at George's departing back.
"Within one month after he was fired as Air Force Chief of Staff, my daddy died," muttered Winthrop. "...and _you_ killed him! I don't care how long it takes or what it costs or who else gets hurt -- but, one way or the other, I'm going to see you _suffer_, Gudunov -- you're not going to escape me by going to the stars."
* * * *
Colonel Gudunov was waiting in the VIP lounge when the flight from Cape Kennedy landed at National Airport. He fished a thirteen-sided two-dollar coin from his pocket, bought a plastican of Coke, pulled up the sip-tab, and wandered over to the window to inhale his morning dose of caffeine and phosphoric acid. It was a windy fall day. The leaves were beautiful, but the dust was terrible. He heard the clamor of an approaching group of press reporters and photographers outside the door of the lounge. Underneath the yapping of reporters and the whirr and snap of cameras there was a firm tenor voice.
"No comment."
"Excuse me, please."
"No comment."
The door to the suite opened. A pair of huge Marine guards seemed to fill the opening -- then they were gone, herding the press away in front of them. George lowered his eyes to see a slightly disheveled female Marine officer slapping the dust off her uniform with her overseas cap. She suddenly noticed him and stopped.
"Are you Gudunov...?" she asked.
"I hope so," said George, with a broad smile, taking the unfair advantage that his name sometimes gave him against the fair sex.
"I'm glad to meet you," said Virginia, extending a pudgy black hand to cancel the sexual overtones of the previous exchange. "I've heard a lot about you in my briefings. I'm glad you got to go on the mission. After all, if it hadn't been for you there wouldn't be a mission. What's next?"
"Choosing the rest of the crew," said George. "You and I were picked by the President and Congress. The choice of the rest is up to us. Actually, the Space Agency doctors and evaluators have prepared a list of those qualified for each specialty needed. Mostly it will be a matter of following their guidelines."
"Good," said Jinjur. She walked to the door of the VIP suite and looked through the peephole.
"The reporters are gone," she said. "Let's take the Metro to the Space Administration headquarters. It'll be faster than waiting for a VIP limo."
* * * *
George tossed the thick stack of folders onto the table.
"They're all good," he said.
"I'm going to take the one that the evaluators gave the highest grade," said Jinjur. He not only is an excellent general practitioner and surgeon, but he has a Ph.D. in leviponics."
"That could come in handy in the hydroponics gardens. What's his name?"
"Dr. William Wang," she said. "It's spelled W-A-N-G, but as he said in his application -- 'You'll always get it right if you remember to pronounce it Wong.'"
* * * *
Dr. Susan Wang climbed slowly up the short flight of steps to her large home in rural Virginia, opened the front door, and closed it tiredly behind her. She looked over the letters left on the hall table for her. There was a message from the maid -- little Freddie had been in trouble at school again, and she was supposed to see the teacher. She glanced through the mail and picked up an electro-mail message in its distinctive blue and white envelope. Her tired face fell even further when she saw it was from GNASA. This was the letter she had been dreading, although she knew in her heart that its arrival had been inevitable.
The letter was addressed to her husband William. No ... not her husband. He wasn't her husband any longer, for she had insisted on getting a divorce to improve his chances of being selected for the Barnard expedition. With a heavy heart, she went through the rest of the mail, took out the letters for William and put them in on his study desk. She went off into the kitchen to see how the maid was coming with dinner.
"Good evening, Dr. Wang," said the maid. "Did you see my note about Freddie?"
"Yes, I suppose I'll have to take time off from work tomorrow and go in and see his teacher," Susan said, "I'm sure it's just because he's worried about his Dad leaving him. Well -- he's just going to have to get used to it."
They both heard the door open in the front hall. A cheery voice rang out, "Hi there! This is your friendly neighborhood sneak thief. Anybody home?"
A thin oriental man with big ears and a smiling face came bouncing into the kitchen, his youthful-looking features belying his forty years and his triple doctorate in organic chemistry, leviponics, and medicine.
He came over, put his arm around his wife's shoulder and asked, "How'd it go at the labs today? From the way you look, I would think that one of your ten-day syntheses had blown up on the heater or gotten poisoned by a side-reaction."
"No, William," she replied, forcing a smile, "Actually things worked out fairly well at the lab today. There was a little trouble with Freddie at school though."
"Oh, he's just a mischievous thirteen-year-old." William said. "He'll grow out of it."
"I hope so," she replied. She paused, then continued, "There was also a letter from the Space Agency."
His face took on a wide-eyed expression, then he looked at her thoughtfully. "What'd it say?"
She said, "I haven't opened it yet, but I'm sure I know what's in it." She gave a weak smile, "Come on, let's go read it."
They walked into his study together. He picked up the envelope and quickly slit it open. As he pulled out the letter he glanced at her and felt a combination of exhilaration, fear, and sorrow. He read the letter aloud, "Dear Dr. Wang: You have been chosen to go on the first interstellar expedition to the Barnard planetary system..."
This was the culmination of his life's ambition -- yet it was going to tear them apart. Still holding the letter in his hand, he put his arms around the woman that used to be his wife. He held her close.
"How much time do they give you?" she asked.
"Not very long," he said. "I'm going to be ship's doctor for the entire crew. I have to go to GNASA headquarters tomorrow morning to help choose them. Then after a break to close out my affairs, I'll spend more time learning their entire medical histories, as well as brushing up on my leviponics and organic chemistry."
"I can help with the organic chemistry," she said.
"So you could!" he said, glad to have something else to talk about. "What's the latest?"
Susan started to give him a history of the advances that had been made in the field of organic chemistry since he had stopped working as a research chemist to study for his M.D. They walked out of the room into the immense yard of their rural Virginia home.
With two incomes well in the upper brackets, the Wangs could afford a big home. Their back yard was not only huge, it was built along the lines of a zoo, for William Wang loved animals, the more exotic the better.
"It's going to be hard leaving you and Fred," he said.
She smiled. "It's going to be even harder for you to leave this menagerie of yours. As you well know, I really don't want to keep them."
"I know. I know," he said. "I'll just have to find good homes for them."
"You've only got a few months," she reminded him. "How many people want pygmy elephants and Bengal tigers, other than zoos?"
"Well, it's a matched pair of pygmy elephants," he replied. "Surely somebody will want them."
William, still holding the letter, walked over to the cages. He patted the Bengal tiger, while the furry beast brushed its huge catlike face against the thin yellow hand reaching through the bars and lowered its head to have its ears scratched.