"James E. Gunn - Station In Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gunn James E)

And always the growing pressure of failure as classmates dropped out, were culled, disappeared, were
mentioned no more.

Until there were five left to graduate.

Five out of 50,000. Those were odds you refused to face when you started. The only way to survive was
not to think about it, to take each trial as it came, and when theg's built too high, to remember the dream
and fight once more and once again.

There couldn't be anything tougher than that. The reality would be fulfillment.

"Go on!" the General growled. "Get out there! I talk too much. The ship won't wait, not even for a
general."

He was coughing as Amos, in flight helmet and coveralls with the webbed harness over it, strode across
the broad platform toward the tapering spire of the ferry. It was a typical three-stager, gleaming in its
white, ceramic coating, its clean lines broken by stabilizer fins and the broad, ungainly wings on which the
third stage would glide through the atmosphere to a powerless landing.

The elevator, part of the giant, hammerhead crane, lifted Amos smoothly up the side of the ship. Across
the hull of the third-stage, beside the vast expanse of wing, were painted these black words:
McMILLEN'S FOLLY.

Amos read them and frowned. Service irreverences were unavoidable, but they belonged within the
service, not out where the public could share them. To call the S.1.2 the Doughnut was not too badтАФhe
did it himselfтАФbut this name left a bad taste in the mouth. The hot hand of air friction could not erase it
too soon.

The thick, square door stood open and empty. Amos shrugged and stooped through the air lock into the
familiar cabin of the M-5 stage-three.

He climbed the rungs of the ladder toward the one unoccupied seat. On this trip he would be radio op.

The others were in their placesтАФcaptain, co-pilot, navigator, engineerтАФtheir smoothly helmeted heads
like bowling balls precariously balanced on seat backs. One of the bowling balls turned, became a face,
hard, disinterested. The captain.

"Cadet-Trainee Danton, sir," Amos said, saluting crisply, "reporting for transportation."

"Oh, God!" the captain groaned at the co-pilot. His head twisted back toward Amos. "Where've you
been? You think we've got nothing better to do than wait for a lousy cadet? Oh, never mind! Get
strapped down! We knowтАФold Bo was giving you speech 12B: 'Words of advice and encouragement
for cadets making their maiden trips: We've never sent out a bad one, a coward or a fool. I don't think
we've started now.'"

Flushing, Amos lifted himself into the vacant chair and clicked his harness straps into place.They'd have
been waiting anyway. Takeoff time wasn't for five minutes.

"What's your specialty?" the captain asked.