"James E. Gunn - Breaking Point" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gunn James E)

the secret beeping of a featureless box dropped by an earlier survey party. Then they sat back at
GHQ and began the same old pattern of worry that followed every advance unit.

Not about the ship. The Ambassador was a perfect machine, automatic, self-adjusting,
self-regulating. It was built to last and do its job without failure under any and all conditions, as
long as there was a universe around it. And it could not fail. There was no question about that.

But an advance unit is composed of men. The factors of safety are indeterminable; the
duplications of their internal mechanisms are conjectural, variable. The strength of the unit is the
sum of the strengths of its members. The weakness of the unit can be a single small failing in a
single man.

Beep ... boop ...

"Gotcha!" said Ives. Ives was Communications. He had quick eyes, quick hands. He was huge, almost
gross, but graceful. "On the nose," he grinned, and turned up the volume.

Beep ... boop ...

"What else do you expect?" said Johnny. Johnny was the pilotтАФyoung, wide, flat. His movements were
as controlled and decisive as those of the ship itself, in which he had an unshakeable faith. He slid into the
bucket seat before the great master console.
Beep ... boop ...

"We expect the ship to do her job," said Hoskins, the Engineer. He was mild and deft, middle-aged, with
a domed head and wide, light-blue eyes behind old fashioned spectacles. He shared Johnny's belief in the
machine, but through understanding rather than through admiration. "But it's always good to see her do
it."

Beep ... boop ...

"Beautiful," said Captain Anderson softly, and he may have been talking about the way the ship was
homing in on the tiny, featureless box that Survey had dropped on the unexplored planet, or about the
planet itself, or even about the smooth integration of his crew.

Beep ... boop ...

Paresi said nothing. He had eyebrows and nostrils as sensitive as a radarscope, and masked eyes of a
luminous black. Faces and motives were to him what gauges and log-entries were to the Engineer. Paresi
was the Doctor, and he had many a salve and many a splint for invisible ills. He [Pg 9]saw everything and
understood much. He leaned against the bulkhead, his gaze flicking from one to the other of the crew.
Occasionally his small mustache twitched like the antennae of a cat watching a bird.

Barely audible, faint as the blue outline of a distant hill, hungry and lost as the half-heard cry of a banshee,
came the thin sound of high atmosphere against the ship's hull.

An hour passed.