"Gardner,.James.Alan.-.Expendable" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner James Alan)

progressed beyond the days of the freak show.
The majority of my graduating class could have been cured by modern medicine. We
all knew it. Which of us hadn't jacked into a medical library and pored through
the texts describing our conditions? Which of us didn't know the names of at
least five techniques to make us into more-normal human beings? Yet those
remedies did not exist for us. The Admiralty had a vested interest in keeping us
repugnant. As long as we stayed as we were, no one lost sleep over sending us on
dangerous missions.
Admirals need their sleep in order to make enlightened judgments.


My Duties


My most time-consuming duty was to review reports from other Explorers. The
latest files were transmitted to our shipboard computer every day and stored on
bubble till I went over them. Most of the time, the reports were simply copies
of the running commentaries all Explorers gave when landing on an unfamiliar
planet.
(Upon graduation, Explorers were fitted with permanent throat transceivers that
transmitted continuously on planet-down missions. The transceivers were quite
visible if you looked closely; but no one worried about a lump on the neck
ruining an Explorer's appearance.)
Some of the transcripts I listened to ended abruptly. We called those
transcripts "Oh Shits" because the Explorers often said, "Oh shit," just before
their throat mikes went dead. You always wondered what they saw just before they
stopped transmitting. You seldom found out.
"Oh Shit" reports weren't marked in any special way. Whenever I audited the log
of someone I knew from the Academy, I wondered if it would end in "Oh Shit." An
absent voice spoke in the quiet of my quarters and I never knew if the next word
would be the last. Sometimes I listened to blank silence for half an hour, not
wanting to believe that the report had ended.
The Admiralty never listed Explorers as dead. We were simply Lost... like old
shoes that might turn up in spring housecleaning. In private, Explorers used a
different expression: we talked about our friends Going Oh Shit.


My Lifestyle


I kept my distance from others on board our ship. I expect they were glad of it.
I know I was.
There was once a time when I would eat in the public cafeteria to prove I wasn't
afraid. As I carried my tray into the dining room, conversation would dwindle
while the crew waited to see which table I chose. Some days I sat by myself.
Other days I was invited to eat at this table or that. Now and then I
purposefully joined the group that seemed most likely to lose their appetites
looking at me; but I grew out of that after a few months in the service.
It took longer to see through those who welcomed me. Some were obvious, of
course, like the ones with religious leanings. For obscure reasons,