"Raymond Z. Gallun - Blue Haze on Pluto" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gallun Raymond Z)

 More than a trifle dazed, he reached the top. Glowing through the tenuous, half-congealed
atmosphere, was the Sun тАФa shrunken speck of incandescence billions of miles away. In a few minutes it
would set. Then the unbelievable cold of the Plutonian night would begin to strike home, biting through his
partovac.
However, he scarcely considered this promise of death now. A kind of dull horror and a sense of
inadequacy possessing his mind, he started eastward. Somewhere beyond the serrated jumble of crags
and ice hills, rearing in stark denial ahead, Pindar lay. He was attempting to reach Pindar ; he was
attempting the impossible.
Plod, plod, plod. His feet tramped through a semiliquid slush. It looked like snow, but it wasn't. Up
slope, down into hollow, up slopeтАФ And everywhere those frosty monsters reached for him, touched
him, and snapped with the brittle jingle of shattered glass. The sound came in a muffled whisper through
his helmet. His shadow, long, attenuated, grotesque, bobbed along before him. This was a fairyland of an
incomparable bejeweled beautyтАФand a hell of ghastly grandeur.
Above the crests of the hills, too far off to be examined in any detail, several blobs of haze hung,
adding their touch of strangeness to the un-Earthly scene. They were bluish like steel, and semi-opaque.
They coiled and swirled in a way that seemed too erratic to be ascribed to air currents alone. Within
them was a suggestion of phosphorescence, and they produced a faint, crackling rustle, like an aurora.
Terry Sommers wondered about them, conscious of an unease. Some desire for reassurance made him
glance back at the Venusian, who had recovered his senses. The little fellow's eyes clung intently,
fearfully, to those masses of haze. Sommers decided that it was best to keep as far from them as
possible.
Plod, plod, plod. At first the going was fairly easy; then it became monotonous, then torturing. The
torture of it grew and grew, slowly yet inexorably. Out of the purple eastern sky white flakes began to sift
down as night approached. A thin breeze accompanied it. Terry's body was becoming curiously numb
and wooden.
The light was failing. Dusk. Colder. A panicky terror warmed his flesh a trifle, and he started to run.
He stumbled once and fell. Powdery crystals showered around him. He arose and continued doggedly,
on.
Night brought enchantments that eclipsed the glories of the day. Above, stars burned with sardonic
splendor, faintly veiled by sifting flakes of congealed atmosphere. Plutonian life glimmered like serried
hosts of huge gems in whose hearts icy fire of every hue throbbed and cascaded.
Terry Sommers did not see their beautyтАФonly their horror. Darkness seemed to increase their
activity. Jagged spurs darted toward him, as if attempting to pierce his partovac. If they didтАФ
He tried not to think of that; he only sought to fight on. The blobs of haze were clearer now, yet still
mysterious, glowing a frosty, translucent blue.

AN HOUR went by. He must have covered several miles since the outset, running, jumping,
plodding. Was he any nearer to Pindar? He thought he saw the red streak of a beacon fan ray sweeping
the dark firmament far ahead, yet he couldn't be sure. Above, and a mile to the left, a flier zigzagged,
searching for the space ship that was supposed to bring antitoxin to the smitten city. Terry wanted to
shout to it, to scream out that he was there. But to do so, he realized, would be a useless waste of effort.
Drowsiness was conquering him, clouding his senses and his ability to reason. It wasn't the effort that
had depleted his energies; it was the cold, increasing every moment until at mid- night it would almost
reach the ultimate zero of space itself. It was sort of puzzling the way he felt. His feet moved as if they
composed a being separate from his body. They acted apparently without his guidance, stumbling,
recovering, climbing obstacles. They didn't hurt him much; they ached dully, and felt stiff and awkward.
He was angry at them for telling him that they ached and that they felt as they did. Why did they bother
him? He had troubles of his own, hadn't he? What were those troubles? It was becoming difficult to keep
them fixed in his mind.
Fear. Those blobs of blue haze, shimmering and shifting near the horizon, inspired fear in him even